Grim Grinning Ghosts
by oniforever
Summary: Harry Potter died on December 4th,1987. He was buried in a mausoleum the Surrey Graveyard. Now, his ghost and his corpse are two entities. When Harrison the Ghost and Harold the Zombie get a letter to Hogwarts, Harrison hatches a plan. Watch as these two masquerade as one of the living, and will anybody find out? No pairings yet. AU. Undead!Harry. Rated T for mentions of violence.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **

**Oni: Okay guys! This isn't an update on Redemption or Union of Roses I know... Union of Roses will be updated soon, and I will write the new chapter for Redemption when the writer's block for that story dies a painful, painful death. **

**Harry: So what are you doing to me THIS time then?**

**Oni: Urgh, you'll see...**

**Oni: Ah yes... I've got to do a disclaimer!**

**Oni: Harry~**

**Harry: Oh, fine.**

**Harry: Oni does not own me, or my story. That belongs to J.K Rowling. The plot bunny comes from tumblr, but the 'new' me is kinda hers.**

**Oni: Hope you like it!**

* * *

It was the night of Halloween, the night of fright and candy. It was the night where children dress up and go to every door in order to gain sugary treats from doting adults. But neither the parents nor the children realized that they were missing a house, and the family inside that house will not have known what would happen in that house that very night. The house at Godric's Hollow was blissfully unaware of the significance of Halloween, the significance of the night that brings the living world and the dead world closer than any other day.

Someone else, however, did know.

A crack was heard in the dead of the night, and a single man cloaked in black stood where there was nothing before. He glanced up at the empty space in front of him, a decrepit yard with tall grass and teeming with vermin. A cruel smile graced his lips as he took a scrap of parchment with an address written in scratchy handwriting. When the man finished reading the short note, he looked up to see that a homey looking cottage had replaced the deserted lot that was there before. Absentmindedly throwing the parchment away, he prowled up to now exposed house of the Potters, the note burning to ashes on the street.

Voldemort was not stupid, the Prophecy spoke of a child born to destroy him. If he were to continue to live immortally, then the boy of the Prophecy, Harry James Potter, must be disposed of. And tonight was the night to kill the boy, when the magic hummed with a deathly light. The wards were batted away without much effort, and Voldemort swiftly blasted open the cottage door. There, James Potter fell to Death's grip, and was taken away to be greeted by those who passed on. Voldemort climbed the stairs to the nursery, where the Muggleborn Lily Potter-Evans pleaded for him to not kill her child. Hesitating because of the plea from Severus to spare the girl, Voldemort lowered his wand a fraction. He contemplated on killing her, but then he saw a small black mark on the child's forehead.

It was the rune 'sig' for victory, and at once Voldemort realized that the mudblood was going to sacrifice herself to save her child. The love of a mother was the one thing lost little Tom never had, and that magic would utterly destroy him. All at once, everything became clear as to HOW the boy was to defeat him.

With a flick of his wand, Voldemort sent a Stunner on the girl, knocking her out. Now unconscious, she would not be able to complete the sacrifice, as the rune would require valiant blood spilled. Two words and a flash of green light later, and Lily's spirit left to greet her husband. However, what Voldemort did NOT know was that because of the closeness of the worlds on that night, Lily's spirit lingered above her son before she left, and placed a kiss on her son.

Not knowing what had happened, Voldemort triumphantly lifted his wand to the baby, who was silently watching the entire ordeal, his killing curse eyes wide with fear.

"Avada Kedavra." The Dark Lord whispered before the emerald light hit the child, along with a piece of his own soul, which buried itself inside the new curse scar that Harry had gained. The force of another soul split destroyed Voldemort's body, leaving only a cloak on the floor.

Little Harry watched the figure disappear and a stick fall on top of him. Holding tightly to it, the baby snuggled into the blankets he was swaddled in, and by the time someone arrived to see the wreck that was the Potter Cottage, Voldemort's wand was safely tucked inside his blanket, away from sight.

And that was the first time Harry Potter was killed on Halloween, but because of his mother's sacrifice, he was given another chance.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore looked at the carnage that was previously the Potter family home, holding the newly appointed Boy-Who- Lived in his arms, waiting for Hagrid to arrive. His blue eyes devoid of any twinkle, he gazed sadly at Harry, mourning for what was to become of the child. Voldemort going after Harry marked them as equals, and now little Harry was truly the child of the Prophecy. From the amount of magic left in the nursery, it was entirely possible that Lily had done a blood sacrifice before she died. Dumbledore knew that this sacrifice may be the key to defeating Voldemort once and for all, so he had owled Hagrid to help take the child to Lily's only living relative – Petunia Dursley.

The rumble of a motorcycle snapped Albus out of his thoughts, and kindly greeted the giant (well, half-giant actually) of a man riding it.

"Greetings Rubeus. Unfortunately we don't have much time until the Aurors arrive. Take Harry to Number Four Privet Drive in Surrey at once. I will be there waiting for you." Dumbledore carefully handed the small child over to Hagrid before disaperating with a 'pop'. Hagrid held the baby as carefully as possible and then rode off above the houses, headed for Number Four Privet Drive, leaving the destroyed house for the Aurors to take care of.

When he got to the Dursley abode, Dumbledore was indeed waiting for him, along with a stern looking woman in a green cloak.

"Good evening, Rubeus."

"'ello McGonagall, jus' 'ere ter drop 'arry off." Hagrid gave baby Harry to McGonagall and she carefully brushed his hair away to show his scar.

"He will have that scar forever." Dumbledore soberly said. He then conjured a basket and took a letter out of his pocket. Placing Harry inside the basket and placing the note on top, Dumbledore quietly left Number 4, Privet Drive with a soft 'pop'. Hagrid rode away on Sirius Black's motorcycle, with the intention of returning it to the distraught man. Minerva, however, stayed behind.

She stared sorrowfully down at baby Harry, her cat instincts going haywire. This child was an innocent little boy, and she had seen how horrible those muggle relatives of his were. Something inside her told her to take the child and put him in a better home, somewhere far away from this house. But she knew that if she did, then the Headmaster would be irate with her. Minerva sighed, and squashed down her cat instincts. Harry would be fine, she told herself, he would be safe with in the blood wards. Giving one last glance back at the sleeping child, McGonagall turned on her heel and dissaperated.

Nobody knew just how right her cat instincts were, and when they finally did, it was far too late. Because there were no blood wards, as Lily was unable to perform the ritual. But one could argue that what baby Harry was given was far more powerful.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Oni: That's all for now! Don't expect updates too much anymore because I suck at any deadlines, but they WILL update**

**Oni: Farewell for now my pretties!**


	2. The Boy Who Died

_**Grim Grinning Ghosts Chapter 1 - The Boy Who Died**_

**A/N:**

**Oni: Oh look, an update. **

**Harrison: Oh marvelous! **

**Harold: Pretty flowers?**

**Oni: Yes, Harold there are pretty flowers, and also the first chapter.**

**Oni: Yup, and a disclaimer, Harrison if you will?**

**Harrison: Oni does not own Harry Potter nor the text post that started this plot bunny off in the first place. This version of us technically belongs to her in the vaguest of ways, but not really.**

**Oni: Aaaaand ONWARDS!**

* * *

In Surrey, England, there lived a lonely old man. He lived in a street full of developing families, of scampering rascals, and of childish laughter. This man was named Mr. Wesley, and all the local delinquents stayed clear from his house, for fear of the man's hunting rifle. Mr. Wesley, however, loved children, though he never married and never had any children of his own. His neighbors would say only good things about him, at least when he was within earshot, and always offered to take care of him in his old, frail state. He would always decline, since he knew the people of Privet Drive far too well to see through their greedy agendas.

It was a well known fact on Privet Drive that Mr. Wesley was a rich man, albeit a very old rich man. Because of this, most of his neighbors tried to get in his good graces, so that they might inherit his money when he died. This notion that he was only seen as a probable lottery ticket made Mr. Wesley a very lonely man indeed. There seemed to be no one he could trust in the entire neighborhood, he only wanted to pass the time with idle chatter and pass down advice to the younger children, but even that seemed improbable. Not one person from Privet Drive was kind hearted enough.

That is, until he met the boy on the other side of the fence.

The boy in question was a very young and scrawny thing. He wore threadbare clothes that were far too large for him, and large, sticky taped glasses seemed to swallow his face. Messy black hair grew upon his head, and he had the most expressive green eyes Mr. Wesley had ever seen. The fence dividing Mr. Wesley's house from the Dursley Abode was not very tall, and the old man decided to peer over the rickety thing when he was trimming his hedges one day. When he saw what the child was doing, the lonely old man could not help but crack a smile.

In the boy's pale, thin hands was a white lily, and the child was turning it around with his fingers, examining it with a strange fascination. A small smile formed on his face as he traced the closed petals with a finger, handling the flower as if it were made of glass or precious gems. Mr. Wesley found himself oddly drawn to the boy, and cleared his throat. The reaction was immediate, as the child leapt up in fear, eyes wildly looking around for the source of the noise.

"And what might you be doing, young man?"

Said boy in question slowly turned to face his neighbor, of whom he's watched from the windows when he cleaned the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive. Emerald eyes glanced wearily at the man, trying to figure out if he was in trouble.

"Gardening." Was the child's careful reply.

Mr. Wesley smiled at the boy's answer, and inclined his head to the boy. That would be the start of a close friendship between one Eric Robert Wesley and one Harry James Potter. Harry quickly became the grandson Eric never had, and Mr. Wesley became the father figure Harry yearned for all those years. They found out each other's habit and ticks, like the way Mr. Wesley would thump his cane on the ground when he tried to hold in laughter, or Harry's obsession with white lilies.

Ah yes, the white lilies. How could one forget the way that Harry held the small flowers in his hands? When asked about it one day, the child stared off into space, murmuring two syllables that Mr. Wesley could not understand. Harry would then just give a small smile, before continuing his examination of the blossom until he was called upon by the screeching voice of DEAREST Aunt Petunia. The child would then softly kiss the petals, before carefully lying the flower in between the hedges, out of sight. There was one time he didn't, and Mr. Wesley did not see little Harry for the next week.

Alas, it was to happen, when on a cold night in early December, Mr. Wesley found out one of Number Four Privet Drive's most kept secret. It started with the small things that changed about Harry. The way the child carried himself, limping, sore in many places. Sometimes when they met for their cherished chat times, Mr. Wesley would notice the bruises along the green eyed child's face. When the old man asked what happened, Harry would merely cover it up and mumble that he fell down the stairs, something that Mr. Wesley did not believe one bit.

Then, on the eve of December Fourth, something happened. Snow had draped a thick white blanket on the neighborhood, and Mr. Wesley watched disapprovingly as Petunia Dursley ordered her nephew to shovel the snow away. Shivering, Harry picked up the shovel and started working on the driveway. For a while, only the sound of the shovel against the snow was heard as Mr. Wesley prepared some hot chocolate for himself and the child slaving away next door. When the old man got outside, he was met with another interesting sight.

Bright emerald green eyes shone with curiosity and intelligence beyond the child's own seven years of age as Harry stared at the white lily that was sprouting from the ground, young and not even in bloom, just like the child observing it. Mr. Wesley watched in wonder and fascination as Harry knelt down on the cold ground as put his trembling, frozen hands around the flower, as if to save it from such harsh weather. A soft glow emanated from his hands, and the flower grew, opening its petals. The lily was as pure white as the snow, but held an almost heavenly glow around its petals. Small bursts of giggles followed after, before Harry bowed his head, carefully petting the petals again. Once again, little Harry spoke those two syllables, but this time Mr. Wesley caught the word.

"Mummy." The child whispered softy, solemnly.

Mr. Wesley's eyes widened. 'So the flower represents Harry's mother.' He thought to himself as he quietly watched the flower grow towards the child, a soft chiming sound coming from the small plant.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, FREAK?!" Came a shrill shriek as both a shocked Mr. Wesley and a frightened Harry snapped their heads around to find an enraged Petunia Dursley screeching at the front door.

At that moment, Mr. Wesley's heart dropped down to his stomach. Something horrible was about to happen, something so terrible that it would cause all mortal beings to shudder every year after. It happened so fast. One second little Harry, sweet, innocent little Harry Potter, was sitting on the snow covered ground shivering in fear and yet holding his hands protectively around the lily he had made and the next the poor child was being dragged into the house by the collar of his oversized and threadbare shirt by a purple faced Vernon Dursley. Understanding what was about to happen, Mr. Wesley wasted no time. He knew that although he himself was physically weak, his influence over the neighborhood was wide. Dialing the police, he spoke urgently into the phone, and prayed that the child could hold on for just a little longer.

Shrieks emanated from within the house on Number Four Privet Drive, and within seconds the entire neighborhood was peaking out their windows and in some cases walking toward the house, curiosity overriding any sense. It lasted for three horrifying minutes, and in that time some of the stronger neighbors were trying to break the door down. Three minutes, and then the screaming abruptly stopped. Mr. Wesley thought he would stop breathing, and the street had gone completely silent. Seconds ticked by as everyone just stood where they were, trying to comprehend what had just happened as the wail of the police sirens got louder and louder.

The constables cleared the area out and kicked the door open. What they found was horrifying.

Blood covered the walls of the hallway, and the inside of the house smelled like death. Cautiously taking out their firearms, the policemen and women carefully made their way inside. A thundering roar erupted as the law enforcers were suddenly faced with a frothing, red face walrus of a man, who was charging toward them with a shotgun. Following after was a shrieking, horse faced woman who was armed with a carving knife. A round pig of a boy was sitting in the dining area, pale and white faced. The police quickly subdued the two adults, handcuffing them as the constables called for an investigation team to come to Number Four Privet Drive as fast as they could. The fat man spat at them angrily as the police started to comb the house.

It was a round faced police girl that was fresh out of the academy who found the first clue when she went to check the kitchen area until she stepped in a pool of blood. She gave a short scream and her teammates ran to see what was going on. All she could do was point to the puddle of blood she had stepped in, and they realized that it was coming from the cupboard under the stairs. With a baited breath, they opened it, frightened. But nothing could have prepared them for the sight of the boy lying limply inside the cupboard under the stairs.

One officer threw up as they gazed, shaken, at the sight before them. There was a scrawny boy lying in an unnatural angle on what looked to be a threadbare mattress. His clothes were completely ripped off and the officers could see that the blood was slowly trickling down gashes that were on the child's back. When they cautiously used a cloth to clean the wound, they realized that the gashes spelled out the word 'FREAK'. The worst however, had to be the red handprints on the child's neck, which almost completely covered the entirety of the neck.

That was how the murder investigation team found the policemen, staring with horrified eyes at a boy that was dead before they could save him.

Mr. Wesley was outside, on the lawn outside while the investigation team concluded that the child had died from asphyxiation, Vernon Dursley had chocked the child to death. It was agreed in the neighborhood to never speak or mention this, lest it tarnish the street's perfect image. The old man, however, didn't care about image. He just stared at the ground, tears falling from his eyes until something glowed from the corner of his eye.

The white lily was still there, an ethereal symbol of purity and innocence. But there was something different about it. The emerald stalk of the lily was wrapped around a bone white stick. Carefully picking the flower, he marveled at how beautiful it was. He gave one last sorrowful glance at the house that his small friend had perished in. He would make it up to the child, even if it was in death.

* * *

On a rather warm day in April, Mr. Wesley looked at his work with pride. He had contacted the Surrey Graveyard and had contracted some stonemasons in secret, and now a small stone path wound further into tranquility until it reached a stone mausoleum that was surrounded by yew trees. The area was completely secluded and secret, and Mr. Wesley knew Harry would have liked that.

Harry's funeral was a small one, only a lonely old man showed up. Mr. Wesley wanted the best he could give the child. The Dursleys were in prison for murder and child abuse (not that anybody talked about it, when asked most will just say that the family was on an extended vacation) and the Dursley boy had gone to live with his aunt. So it was only Mr. Wesley and the Surrey Pastor, who didn't speak much and yet gave his condolences to the child lying in the stone coffin. Harry was lain on a bed of cloth lilies, and was dressed in a small tuxedo with a high collar to hide the ugly handprints that would forever be imprinted on the child's cold, stiff neck. He had been mummified so that he wouldn't rot as quickly as bodies usually do, so the corpse on the bed of lilies could have fooled any passerby that the child might be merely sleeping.

Eric Wesley mourned silently for his young friend, who he had never got the chance to speak to all that often, and yet the child wormed his way into such a lonely heart. Carefully, Mr. Wesley took out a small glass case. The wooden stick was still wrapped in the lily stem's tight grip, and the lily itself had lost neither its glow or vitality. Putting the flower in between the child's hands, which were crossed in normal graveyard fashion, Mr. Wesley said what he believed would be his final goodbyes to the boy that died horribly, like a lily crushed beneath a car's rolling wheel. The large stone slab was placed on top of where Harry now lay, and the now once again lonely old man felt a tear roll down his wrinkled face as he read the inscription on top of it.

_Here Lies "Harry" James Potter_

_July 31st 1980 - December 4th 1987_

_A shimmering Emerald, buried forever beneath the Stone_

_A pure Lily, crushed before it had a chance to Glow_

_The Boy Who Died_

_May his Spirit one day find Peace_

With that, the man walked away, holding a handkerchief to his eyes. Because the stone was in the way, Mr. Wesley did not see the lily sink down into the child's dead body, nullifying the carefully laid mummification salves. He did not see the body glow slightly, patches and beams flowing from the cracks in between the stones. Nobody would see what would take place as magic worked through the corpse of Harry James Potter, doing something that magic was never able to do before.

This was the second time that Harry Potter died.

But that didn't mean he was gone, oh no. Come July 31st 1988, nobody was there to see the glass lilies underneath the body shimmer, absorbing and channeling ambient magic into the core of the body, where a white lily bloomed where the heart should have been. Nobody was there to see the lighting bolt scar on the child's head glow brightly, white light being sucked in from the glass lilies below it. Nobody noticed the wispy entity, green and black and white smoke, that started to form above the boy's body.

Nobody was there, magical, muggle or otherwise, to see a pair of bright emerald eyes open from beneath the stone coffin lid.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Oni: Annnnd that's the first chapter! Hope you liked it!**

**Harold: See you... next chapter...**

**Harrison: Indeed! But don't forget to review, least we die in more than one way...**

**Oni: Reviews make the world go round and round and round.**

**Oni: See you next time, my pretties!**


	3. Harrison and Harold

**_Grim Grinning Ghosts Chapter 2 - Harrison and Harold_**

**A/N:**

**Oni: Look who's back!**

**Harrison: My goodness, you're on a roll today!**

**Harold: We're... updated?**

**Harrison: Yes, indeed! I'm so excited! **

**Oni: Yes, yes. I get it. Now do you want to go read it or what?**

**Harrison: I believe we are missing something...**

**Oni: Oh right!**

For letters and writing

"**Harrison and Harold speaking in their mind**"

"Normal speech"

**Oni: Ah yes, and the disclaimer! Harrison!**

**Harrison: Oni does not own Harry Potter, nor the plot bunny. She does own the renderings of Harold and I, but that's about it.**

**Oni: ONWARDS!**

* * *

Surrey Graveyard is not a place one would frequent, yet alone reside in. Tombstones were placed neatly in rows and columns, stating the person's name, birth and death dates, and epitaph. This was nearly the entirety of the humble graveyard, unless you looked closely at the edges of the graveyard, near the berry bushes. There, in between some mulberry bushes, was a small stone path. If one were to walk down that path, they would find themselves traveling on a narrow and winding stone path that was around a half a mile long. By now you would be in the boundary lines of some land purchased by one Eric Wesley, and with a few more minutes of walking, you will see a sorrowfully beautiful sight.

A stone mausoleum stood proudly in the middle of what looked like a garden out of a fairytale. It was surrounded by many white lilies, each softly glowing and beautiful. Perched on top of the entrance to the mausoleum was a stone stag and doe standing on their hind legs. Flanking the stone building were large stone statues, one of a man and one of a woman. The woman had beautiful flowing hair and wore a simple gown. She was looking down at a lily in her hands with a soft smile on her face. On the other side was the statue of the man, who was standing tall, and wore a simple suit. A pair of round glasses was perched on his face, which was hard set with determination. A pond of clear water with no fish was set behind the mausoleum, lined with multicolored pebbles.

If one were to walk in and see this garden, they would think that whoever made all this had absolutely no life whatsoever. They would probably never know how right they were, in more than one sense of the phrase 'no life'. After all no one really visited this place, sans sometimes the odd entwined couple and unruly delinquent dared to go, but they would usually run away at the slightest sound in fear of being found out. Especially when people started to disappear completely.

One of the culprits behind the disappearances was perched on top of the mausoleum on a warm afternoon in July, contemplating life, knowledge, and whatnot. He seemed to be a small boy of around seven years of age who was dressed in a simple back tuxedo with a dark green bow tie, black hair tastefully messy. A square pair of glasses that was not framed at the top currently sat on his nose, magnifying the bright green eyes the child had. While a boy in a tuxedo sitting on top of a mausoleum was indeed strange, the strangest thing was that the child was translucent. Nearly see through white gloved hands gripped an opaque, black journal as the boy read his newest entry:

Dear Diary,

Yesterday I possessed Harold again to find out more about why some people are talking about Harry Potter, since nobody seemed to care before. I think that I might just go completely mad if I stay here forever, it's been almost three, four years and I'm used to it by now. You know, being dead. But mother told me last Halloween about this 'Hogwarts' and I can't help but be excited about it. Harold and I practiced again and I think we've almost got it down pat. Remember December 4th. Our letter should be coming soon, I'm really excited about it. I think it would be interesting, pretending that Harry never died and split into me and Harold, and I wonder how long I can pull it off...

I'll write in here when I get the time, but I can't make promises.

Sincerely,

Harrison

Harrison closed his journal with a soft sigh. He watched from his vantage point as a small figure made its way to the entrance of the mausoleum. This new figure looked almost identical to Harrison, with the same messy black hair (that was more of the 'sticking all over the place' variety), bright green eyes (more curious and slightly glazed), black tuxedo (so it was a bit torn in places, he could fix it...), and glasses (rounder and slightly cracked, what has he been up to?). However, this boy was incredibly pale, and parts of his flesh seemed to have fallen off, his right hand completely skeletal from digging in the dirt. Parts of his cheek were missing, permanently showing bony teeth that had taken a sharper point.

"Hello again, Harold!" The translucent boy chirped, "I say, you look rather mussed up! What on Earth have you been up to?"

The boy (well, walking corpse) looked up at Harrison, and gave the perching child (well, ghost) a loped smile.

"Flowers growing pretty now." Was all he said before trudging into the mausoleum.

Harrison shrugged and floated down from his perch on top of the stone building. Floating just above the ground, he followed his undead counterpart, hoping that he could clean the poor lad up before Harrison tried his mother's spell again. Fishing the yew and phoenix feather wand (that's what mother told him it was at least, but apparently it belonged to a very, very bad man who wasn't dead yet, so Harrison gained possession through defeating him, somehow) out of his pocket and twirled it in his hand, feeling the magic pulsing through it sing with his own in a ghostly tune. He never knew why the wand only liked him and not Harold, but Harrison was guiltily grateful for it. There wasn't a whole lot that ghosts could hold after all.

Peaking inside, the ghost boy watched as Harold coaxed the lilies to grow out of the stone, surrounding the ground around their coffin. The undead child always had an affinity for plant life, even if he himself was dead. Harrison remembered at one point that he too could do that, back when he and Harold were one person, back when Harry Potter was alive. Harrison shook his head in amusement as Harold grinned as much as he could as flower stems surrounded the base of the coffin, twisting and weaving in complex patterns.

"It's beautiful, Harold."

Harold slowly turned to look at Harrison, a smile growing on his rotting (well, not anymore...) face.

"Thank...you..." He managed out, his voice rattled as if he had dirt in his throat, which he probably had.

"You are most welcome! Just one question, off the subject, what do you think of all this 'Hogwarts' business?" Harrison asked as he floated to perch on top of their coffin.

"Hog...warts...nice? Make...pretty...flowers?"

"Hm... Probably. There is something called 'Herbology' in the list of classes, no doubt we'll be working with plants..." The ghost child supplied, remembering his parent's rendition of the school.

"Then...Harold...go..."

"Alright then, but we'll have to practice! Can't have them know we're dead..."

Harrison flicked his wand upwards, and mumbled some words under his breath. He felt himself float into Harold, merging with him. Harold blinked as his body grew up, his broken flesh mending to look like new and his teeth blunting into that of a normal human's. The suit stretched with him, changing into a green and black hoodie, his black slacks turning into blue jeans, and his dress shoes turning into sneakers.

"This should do." Harrison said using Harold's mouth.

Harold didn't try to speak, he was resting, letting his ghost counterpart pilot the body. Besides, Harrison's quick movements made them look alive, and Harold relished in the intellectual spirit's ability to move the body so rapidly. Harrison flexed his fingers, loving the feeling of being able to feel whole again. He swiftly walked out of the mausoleum, and made his way through the winding path, and past the graves. Once outside the graveyard walls, people watched as small boy of around eleven years of age practically skip away, humming to himself. He passed an old man, who was on his weekly walk to the graveyard, and waved to him. The old man jovially waved back, and Harrison jogged up to him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wesley!"

"Good afternoon, little Harry. How have you been?" The old man said in a soft voice.

Mr. Wesley was the only one who knew of the grave, so obviously he found out about the child's re-animation. After that, the old man spoiled the dead boy rotten (the pun was VERY intended, why do people never love his jokes, Harrison wondered), bringing in slabs of stone and tools for Harold, creating a pond and buying a journal and pen for Harrison, and giving monthly offerings to the two - who knew that ghosts could only eat food that was offered in ceremony?

"We have been well. Ah! Before we forget, we will be attending a boring school this year, so don't be alarmed if we are not home."

A kind nod was given by the old man, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet, handing it to the smaller boy. The small child took it, perplexed, and opened it. Inside was around £1,000, all in different notes and coins. With trembling hands, the boy tried to return it.

"Avos, this is too much! We can't accept this!"

Gnarled hands enveloped tiny, pale hands, closing the fingers over the wallet. A small smile graced a wrinkled face at the use of the title 'Avos', Latin for 'Grandfather'. Patting the wallet, he replied:

"Take it my child, for anything I do now will never be enough to make up for what I did not do back then. Lord knows I have enough of this, what I have given is nothing to me, if it calms your precious little soul."

With that, Mr. Wesley tipped his hat and went on his way, his cane tapping on the concrete sidewalk. The combination of Harrison and Harold gave a small salute, much more mild as Harold's psyche mixed in with Harrison's, and walked away.

* * *

Nobody truly notices a small hooded boy walking down the street, so 'Harry' was left to his musings. So when he got on the bus, paid the fair, and sat quietly all the way to London, nobody questioned it. Some offhandedly wondered why he didn't have a guardian with him, but waved it off as the child being particularly independent. They didn't bother him as he leant against the window with a wistful expression, nor when he started to sing softly, though they couldn't hear the words. When the bus stopped in London, he quietly hopped off, still singing the same song.

"When the crypt doors creak..."

Skipping along the streets of London, the boy smiles, yet nobody pays the child heed.

"And the tombstones quake..."

A stray cat shambled up, straggly and close to death. It nuzzled the child's leg, knowing that the child holds life in his heart. The boy paused in his walk, but not in his song.

"Spooks come out for a swinging wake..."

Carefully picking up the starving stray, 'Harry' held it to his chest, petting it, giving it the love it never had before.

"Happy haunts materialize..."

The cat mewls, feeling the warmth emanating from within the boy heal it, fix its wounds.

"And begin to vocalize..."

Soon the feline felt as good as new, it's black fur coat glistening instead of dirty, and it felt... content. It didn't feel hungry anymore.

"Grim Grinning Ghosts come out to socialize."

Harrison lifted the cat up, Harold looking into its eyes. Inside the mind space that the consciousness of Harold and Harrison resided, the two were having a little 'chat'.

Okay, Harold got attached and now Harrison is trying to reason with him.

"**Can...we...keep...kitty?**" Harold asked.

"**Unfortunately, we have nothing to take care of it with, I highly doubt it would like being around the deceased for very long.**" Was the reply.

"**We...could...bring...it...with...us... Could...be...my...kitty...**"

Harrison sighed.

Small feet hung in the air as the cat looked at the boy, silence coming between them for a while as the world passed them by. It was only when a harried businessman almost knocked them over that Harrison and Harold came to an agreement.

"**Very well, you can keep the kitten. But _you_ will help take care of it.**"

Hands scratched behind the cats ears, making it purr.

"**Harold...promise...**"

"**Excellent. Well, we better not dawdle now. The letter should be coming by very soon, and it would be best if the address isn't the graveyard, don't you think?**"

With the kitten safely held in the child's hands, the two undead (can ghosts be called undead, Harrison mused, or merely dead?) boys navigated the body over to a nearby cafe bakery. Harrison walked up to the counter, where a clerk was watching him, perplexed. Small hands clasped in front of him, Harrison took a breath.

"Pardon me, but I am here to pick up a cake under the name 'Harry', it was ordered a week ago."

The clerk gave him a pitying glance, but still smiled warmly.

"Yeah, I remember you. Harrison, right? We've got your cake, the team had fun decorating it, I'll get it for you."

While the clerk went into the back, Harrison found a small table that was unoccupied and sat there politely until he returned. The kitten shifted in his grip, playfully pawing at zipper on the hoodie.

"**What do you suppose should be,**" Harrison glanced at its underbelly, "**_his_... name?**"

"**James.**" Harold replied confidently.

"**After father? Very well.**"

Scratching below its head, Harrison spoke aloud to the little kitten.

"Your name shall be James. Is that alright with you?"

The black cat only mewled happily, nuzzling into the child's arms. Harold giggled, petting the cat while Harrison sat back and sighed. This is how the clerk found them, setting the cake down on the table, his coworkers gathering with him. Fishing the lighter out of his pocket, he smiled at the surprised child, whose confused eyes glanced at him and his coworkers. Lighting the thirteen green candles on the white cake decorated with sugar lilies, they all began to sing.

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to you!"

'Harry''s eyes glistened with happy tears, thanking all of them quietly before they all dispersed back into the normal grind of things. The child took a deep breath.

"**I wish...**"

"**For...family...**"

"**For the acceptance of others...**"

"**For...friends...**"

"**In the times to come.**"

The candles blew out all at once, and Harrison carefully cut a piece off the cake to give to James, who was ecstatic at the sight of food. An hour passed with Harold and Harrison enjoying the cake, having friendly banter in their head until they heard a screeching sound above them.

A barn owl flew from the sky, dropping something on top of James, who mewled in protest, and landing on the table. Harrison picked up the item that dropped on his cat to find an envelope made of parchment. It had wax seal depicting, according to his parents last Halloween, the Hogwarts coat of arms. Excitedly opening the envelope, the child took out two letters. One was an acceptance letter:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harrison barely contained his excited squeal (he would _never_ admit that) as he read the second letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)

by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic

by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory

by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration

by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi

by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions

by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection

by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS

ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

This was it. They were going to Hogwarts. Glancing at the owl, Harrison realized that it was waiting for him to reply. Carefully ripping out a page from his journal, Harrison penned a reply.

To Whomever it May Concern,

I would be delighted in attending your school, however, I have no knowledge on how to go about getting all the items listed. Could I meet a representative at Baggie's Cafe in London at around 1:00 pm? That would be wonderful.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry Potter

Giving the letter to the owl, who was happily munching on some cake, Harrison once again sighed. As the owl flew away, the child leaned back, looking up at the sky.

"And so it begins. I wonder how long until someone finds out..."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Oni: That's all for this update! Don't forget to review! Reviews are like cookies! I eat them up! Yeah I know I have a problem... Anyways, see you next time, my pretties!**


	4. Flitwick, Longbottom, Malfoy

**_Grim Grinning Ghosts Chapter 3 - Flitwick, Longbottom, Malfoy_**

**AN:**

**Oni: Booyeah! I love summer because EVERYTHING UPDATES!**

**Harrison: My goodness, you're right! There _is_ an update!**

**Harold: Yay...**

**Oni: Anyways, here's the legend so far:**

"Normal Talking"

"**Harrison and Harold talking inside their shared mindspace**"

Writing

**Harrison: Now, I'll do the disclaimer! One does not own Harry Potter or the original plot bunny, they go to their respective owners.**

**Oni: Enjoy the fic!**

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was very, very tired. Being the Transfiguration Professor, the Deputy Headmistress, and the Griffindore Head of House, Minerva McGonagall felt exhausted. She was currently sorting out the Hogwarts Acceptance Letter replies, reading the letters and giving each teacher a muggleborn or muggle raised half blood to guide the new student into the Wizarding World. As her quill scratched names down, she turned to look at the even larger stack of parchment that was the rest of her duties. Sighing, McGonagall stopped writing and started to plan her overtime hours.

It was during this that she had an idea. Filius had finished his planning for the year's curriculum, he could help her sort all this out! Immediately going to her drawer, she took out some more parchment and penned a message to her coworker.

To Filius,

I was wondering if you could be so kind as to assist me in my duties as Deputy Headmistress, as I still have the school budget to look over and I haven't even started on the new muggleborn students' visitations. Could you be so kind as to go on them in my place? It would relieve me a great deal of my work and I would gratefully appreciate it.

Sincerely,

Minerva

This immediately was flung into the now dark blue flames of the fireplace, and Minerva waited for what she hoped was a positive reply. It was only a minute later when the flames suddenly turned a deep scarlet and a new piece of parchment flew out. With the agile reflexes that only a cat in animagus could have, the haggard Professor snapped up Flitwick's reply with high hopes. Unfolding the origami crane that the man was so fond of making with his notes, she read:

To Minerva,

Of course, of course! I would be more than happy to! You know, that was my job before you came around, so I believe it would be rather fun to do it again! Who knows, I might even be able to pick out one of mine this time, since you always seem to convince them that your House is the best! Send the list over when you are ready!

Take Care,

Filius

To this McGonagall breathed out a sigh of relief. Flicking her wand at the pile of letters, Minerva giddily watched as all that paperwork flew into the blue flames, out of sight and out of mind. However, the Professor didn't realize that Magic put all the names of the student who were raised muggle, including Harry James Potter. So when Flitwick went out to speak with each integrating student, he didn't realize that the Boy Who Lived was going to be one of them.

* * *

Harrison really had to give it to the Wizarding World, they were really fast at replies. He and Harold were in their 'living' disguise, and lo and behold, there was a man at the cafe at exactly 1:00, dressed decently in normal, muggle wear. And yet heads still turned as he passed. Why? Because this man was incredibly short, and had a slight spring in his step as he searched for someone in the cafe. Harrison decided to let the man know of his presence. He coughed slightly into his fist, still petting James as he dozed in the undead boy's lap. The man turned around at the noise and stopped the small child sitting in the corner. After taking a few steps closer, the man took in the child's appearance before turning giddy. He all but skipped up to the boy and the child, never forgetting his manners, offered the happy short man a seat.

"Ah, Hello Mr. Potter!" said the man with a smile, and Harrison, being a ghost, could sense close up that he was not entirely...human.

"...Hello." He replied quietly, "Excuse me Sir, but I do not believe we are at a fair stance. You know my name, but I do not believe I know yours." Inwardly, Harold marveled at the way their consciousnesses mixed together, and yet Harrison was still able to speak in his articulate manner, albeit not like his usual speed-of-light way.

At this, the older man startled, realizing his rude mistake, but 'Harry' just smiled and offered his hand over the table.

"My name is Harry, and you are, Sir?"

The strange man cleared his throat, a little embarrassed at forgetting his manners in his excitement at meeting the son of his favorite student.

"Yes hello Mr. Potter, I am Filius Flitwick, the Charms Professor of Hogwarts and the Ravenclaw Head of House. I knew your mother,she was a very bright witch. In fact, one could say she was the brightest witch of her generation!" Flitwick squeaked out, and Harrison remembered his mother talking about her Charms Professor with respect and awe.

Therefore the merging of Harrison and Harold, now to be merely called 'Harry' like had had been all those years before the child's untimely demise, smiled warmly at the Professor. They shook hands and the waitress asked if they wanted anything. Harold immediately replied with treacle tart before Harrison could stop him, and Flitwick chuckled at the child's antics before ordering a simple latte, as he had always adored how the muggles came up with different blends of coffee. When the waitress left with their requests, Harry leaned over to the Professor with a sheepish expression, Harrison inwardly hoping that he was right in his deduction on what the man probably knew about 'Harry Potter'.

"Erm, Professor," Harry said, as Harrison grimaced at such a simple way of speech, "My...uh...relatives didn't tell me anything about Magic or Hogwarts or anything...do you mind explaining it to me?" Flitwick gave the child a pitying expression before sighing with a wry smile.

"I should have known Petunia would have withheld information on your magical heritage, and between you and me, I still disagree with the Headmaster's choice to place you with your relatives. Lily always said they were a nasty bunch of muggles, and even Severus agreed, which is a first..."

"Severus?" Harry asked, though he knew enough about the man.

Severus Snape was his mother's best friend, and she always talked about him, which annoyed his father. Lily had also given the two undead halves a job - find Severus Snape tell him that she forgave him, then to give him her childhood pendant. Harold didn't understand why all that was necessary, but Harrison had a suspicion that it had to do with the way his father spoke rather poorly of Lily' childhood friend.

Though Filius was aware of none of Harry's inner conflicts, and so happily delved in to the rich history of Hogwarts, Magic, and the people that Harry should know over their respective coffee and sweets. By the end of it, Harrison was left slightly irate at the Headmaster for putting him with the Dursleys, and yet somehow he had the nagging feeling that he had heard all this before...he was interrupted out of his thoughts as Flitwick hopped off the chair and brushed himself off.

"Well, we better get going then, we have to finish your shopping at Diagon Alley today!" Filtwick squeaked as he trotted away with Harry at his heels, James kept safely snug inside one of the jacket pockets.

They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, and Harrison was grateful that he had the foresight to consider the hoodie, to which he pulled up the hood to hide his face, and most importantly, his scar. Because he didn't have to deal with a million people trying to shake his hand, they went through the pub fairly quickly. Harrison did however feel strange pulling sensation when he passed a man in a purple turban, and filed that away in his mind, if he ever saw the man again.

When they passed through the brick wall divider, Harrison and Harold gasped. Nothing their parents explained could have prepared them for the obscure madness and medieval marketplace that was Diagon Alley. Flitwick noted the fact that the face Harry made was the same one Lily had made when she first stepped into her first real introduction into the Wizarding World. They passed most of the shops, however, and the child was led straight to Gringott's. It seemed that Flitwick was related to one of the goblins there, which did not surprise Harrison in the slightest, sensing now that the foreign aura that was with the professor was his goblin heritage. A golden key was shown to a teller and they were led to a mine cart.

Harrison inwardly gulped as Harold looked confused as they boarded the rickety cart with the grinning goblin, Griphook, along with Flitwick. It took all the self control that Harrison had not to start screeching like a banshee as the cart began to move _very_ fast.

In their shared mindspace, Harrison also glared when Harold began to cheer as the cart ride continued, loving the feeling of going fast without having to run. Because while zombies like Harold _could_ run three times as fast as a living human, he preferred to conserve his energy and shamble to his destinations. Unless the destination was his promised living flesh, then he would run as fast as he could.

"**_Have you no sanity?!_**" Screeched Harrison, knowing full well the other two occupants in the cart couldn't hear his high pitched screaming.

"**We...going fast...this is...fun...!**" Was Harold's reply, giving the face palming ghoul a sharp toothed grin.

"**Cart rides, _honestly_! We could all very well be killed if we were not dead already!**"

Soon enough they stopped in front of a vault with large bronze doors, Griphook taking the golden key and inserting it in the lock. Then he dragged his claw down the side of the door, and Harry could see the magic that the goblin pushed inside the door. When the doors creaked open, Harry gaped at the sight that beheld them. All those gold, silver, and bronze coins... For them? Even so, this was apparently just the trust vault, and their father had said the Potter Family Vault was much larger. Nevertheless, Harry was still in awe as they gathered the few coins they would need for their school shopping, putting in an extra few gold coins (galleons, Harrison's memory offered) just in case Harold found a trinket that he wanted to keep.

This proved to be a good sense of foresight and the two (three) of them started walking down Diagon Alley, and Harold seemed to be curious about absolutely everything. The apothecary held the glass phials they needed, as well as the scales, while the cauldron shop gave them their pewter cauldrons (**But...shiny... / No, Harold! If it's not on the list we shouldn't get the gold or silver ones!**). At another store, Harrison bought a pitch black Crow feather quill, falling in love with its morbid symbolism, and a shiny Parrot feather quill for Harold, who loved the multiple colors of green on one single feather.

Speaking of feathers, Flitwick told them that they could go to Eylop's Owl Emporium for a familiar. Knowing that James would most likely be Harold's primary Hogwarts pet, Harrison agreed. As they surveyed the different breeds, one beautiful Snowy Owl picked the lock on its cage and flew to perch on the boy's shoulder. Harrison stared at the owl curiously, taking in its stance. Snowy Owls are supposedly thought of as bad omens, which is why they are usually avoided by most people. The reason for this is because of the superstition that the presence of a Snowy Owl usually meant there was a ghost haunting nearby. Therefore when Harrison walked out with his own personal familiar Hedwig, after the patron saint of orphaned children, Harold wasn't surprised at all.

At the next stop, Harrison was convinced that he had found heaven. If it weren't for an amused Flitwick dragging the boy out of Flourish and Blott's to get to some of the other stores before they all closed, then Harrison may have been inclined to haunt the place for the rest of his existence. Flitwick may have been rather proud and nostalgic when he dragged the upset child out of the store, grinning to himself as he realized that the child had bought some books that were not on the booklist, and was hoping to Merlin that Harry ended up in Ravenclaw.

The next shop proved to be occupied by only two other customers, a sharp looking woman who seemed to have bought out a taxidermy with all her furs and hats, which Harold eyed wearily as he did not like the way the stuffed peacock on her hat was glaring at him, and a shy round looking boy who startled when they walked in. Flitwick seemed to know the older woman, and smiled up at her.

"Ah, well hello there Lady Longbottom! What a wonderful day to meet each other hm?" He then turned to the shy boy, "and this must be Frank and Alice's boy, Neville!"

Lady Longbottom smirked imperiously down at them, and while Harrison took in the sight of such a formidable woman, Harold peered at the nervous child, who politely nodded and said hello.

"Ah, Filius, wonderful to meet you again." She raised an eyebrow at the boy in the green hoodie, "and this is one of your muggleborn charges, I presume?" Harrison could see her eyes disagreeing with their presence.

"Not much muggle born as muggle raised. May I introduce to you two, Harry Potter!"

The woman's eyes widened in shock and Neville's let out a squeak of surprise. This made Filius chuckle a little as Lady Longbottom put on her nicest smile, which was to Harrison, still incredibly forced. Neville was staring at him in awe. Harrison bowed politely to the older woman before Harold took this chance to make a new friend his age that was undoubtedly alive, and offered his hand to the shaking boy, who glanced in shock at the hand and then at 'Harry'.

"Nice to meet you Harry..." Neville said shakily as he grasped Harold's hand.

"Nice... to meet you...Neville... I'm...I'm...Harold..." He all but whispered so that only the boy could hear, smiling his same dopey smile, which Neville slowly returned.

After that, both Harold and Neville went through the Herbology shop, talking animatedly about the different plants and their uses, Neville asking excitedly about muggle plants and Harold expressing his interests in magical plants in turn. Filius smiled at the two, but something about Harry was a little off. The way Harry acted since he got to the shop, and in Gringott's, did not match the excited bookworm and idealist that he had seen for most of the day. Filius shook his head, he had only met the child today, after all, perhaps this is merely how he acted in certain situations.

They bought their school things, both boys leaving with extra supplies than asked, and said their farewells, promising to meet back up on Hogwarts Express, which Neville had dutifully told Harold about. Harrison took this time to rest and watch his corpse counterpart make a friend of his own, and his mouth formed a little frown on his own accord. He wondered if he'll find a friend he could understand...

This silent wish was answered partially when they stepped into a shop called Madame Malkin's to get fitted for the Hogwarts uniform, and already there was a boy with the whitest hair Harrison had ever seen on a living human standing casually as tape measures whirled around his head. Harrison stepped up to the stand next to the boy, and the woman who could only have been Madame Malkin started measuring his body using similar flying tape measures. The boy turned to Harrison, who was now fully possessing the body as Harold went to sleep, having been tuckered out (this was probably the most he had spoken in a long time, poor thing...) and said in a haughty voice.

"Hogwarts too?" Harrison nodded in reply and said in a slightly excited voice.

"Yes, or so I have been told. Are you a first year as well?" The boy smirked and gave a curt nod, and said something about his parents and racing brooms, then asked if Harrison played Quiddich.

"No, I don't think I have ever heard of Quiddich, could you tell me about it?" Harrison replied, tilting his head to the side and barely noticing the pins that pricked the skin, considering that the dead don't even feel pain.

The boy sneered.

"Oh, so are you one of those?" he asked snidely, looking at Harrison's muggle attire with disdain.

"If you are referring to the fact that I am a wizard, then yes I am."

"I mean are your mum and dad a witch and a wizard?"

"They were, yes." The boy seemed to relax a little and the sneering stopped.

"Oh, good. Though you were a muggleborn for a second."

"Nothing wrong with a muggleborn, they are new blood flowing into a dying, inbred society." This is what Harrison had deducted from what his parents had told him, which left his father open mouthed in shock and his mother beaming in pride.

This new blond boy seemed to be copying his father's expression.

"If you say so, by the way, I am Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." He said imperiously after a few seconds of silence.

"Harry Potter, but call me Harrison."

Harrison smirked at Draco's gobsmacked expression, and was still smirking as an older version of Draco showed up to take the boy away. Harrison watched from the corner of his eye as Draco whispered something to his father, who seemed to be holding Harrison in a calculating gaze before nodding once to Draco's joy.

After Madame Malkin's was only one more shop. Ollivander's, and as the mixture of Harrison and Harold walked up to the dusty shop, they actually felt their stomach flip in apprehension.

* * *

**AN:**

**Oni: Aaaand there we go, another cliffie.**

**Harrison: You are a cruel mistress, Oni. **

**Oni: Well, the next chapter should be up faster! **

**Harold: If you...say...so...**

**Oni: Which I do! Though reviews are also good motivationalists, so you guys can do that too! But seriously, please review, I love reading them and it reminds me that there is, in fact, a fic that I need to update! But other than that, that's all for this chapter! See you next time, my pretties!**


	5. Wands, Trains, Friends, and Duel Persona

_**Grim Grinning Ghosts Chapter 4 - Wands, Trains, Friends, and Duel Personalities**_

**AN:**

**Oni: Hello once again!**

**Harrison: Amazing, you actually updated within ten days of your last update...impressive!**

**Harold: This...make...me...happy...**

**Harrison: It makes me happy too!**

**Oni: Oh yes, also:**

"Normal Speech"

"**Mindspace Talking**"

Writing

**Oni: Now, Harrison...**

**Harrison: Oni does not own Harry Potter nor the original plot bunny idea, but she does own the renderings of myself and Harold. Right Harold?**

**Harold: Right...**

**Oni: Onwards to the story! Enjoy!**

* * *

One would expect that someone who has been dead for a couple of years would be used to copious amounts of dust within their abode. After all, a mausoleum isn't usually kept after, and most of the time the ghosts don't bother. It was common knowledge that ghosts are used to old, decrepit places that long ago had fallen into disrepair. They loved places filled with dust and grime and mold.

This was not the case for one Harrison James Potter.

Harrison was, to put it bluntly, a clean freak. The mausoleum was always kept in pristine condition, but Harrison took it upon himself to do so. After all, Avos sometimes visited and the old man wasn't too fond of dust either. So the ghost did not particularly like dust. Harold didn't really care about dust or grime, seeing as he usually got his hands dirty trying to make the garden around the mausoleum prettier.

However, he was also used to Harrison's perfectionist and clean-obsessed nature, and that didn't bother him either. It was actually rather nice to have someone fuss over his wellbeing (even if there wasn't much to fuss over, being an animated corpse), and Harrison went out of his way to make sure Harold was well fed. Harold was also vaguely surprised when the people Harrison brought twice a year were old bullies, but nonetheless they were delicious.

So Harold understood that Harrison was just a good person with a few crippling flaws, like the inability to stand copious amounts of dust. Which is why Harold was not surprised and slightly worried when Harrison seemed to have an aneurism the moment they stepped into Ollivander's. The place was teeming with magic, no doubt about that, Harrison and Harold felt both the ambient magic of the shop and the individual magic of the many, many wands that were in there.

"Good afternoon." rang out a soft voice, and Harold turned to look at Mr. Ollivander.

"Good...after...noon..." Ollivander gave him a knowing smile.

"Hello Garrick!" piped Flitwick.

"Good afternoon to you too, Filius."

"This is the last shop for Mr. Potter, and if you don't mind, I have some other muggleborns that I need to see today. With both of you be all right on your own?"

Ollivander and Harold both slowly nodded, and happily the half goblin bustled out of the shop, muttering about the time. The silver eyed man turned to Harold.

"Greetings, Harry Potter, I was expecting you at my shop today yes... but not like this. But it seems like only one of you needs a wand today, am I correct on that assumption?"

Emerald eyes widened.

"You...know...that...we..." Harold began, but Ollivander cut him off by nodding.

"Yes, yes. I can sense the presence of two entities, one of which has already found their wand. You may wish to separate for this part, as the combination of the both of you may prevent the other from finding their wand. Remember Missers Potter, it is the wand that chooses the wizard."

The combined entity nodded solemnly, and suddenly the small body was surrounded by a pure white light. Ollivander did not look the least bit surprised at the two seemingly seven years old corpse and ghost duo that now stood in the living boy's place. Harrison was nervously twirling his wand in his left hand, the bone white color all too familiar to the old man. His eyes widened. Shakily he held his hand out to Harrison.

"May I?"

Harrison paused for a second, and gave Ollivander a dubious stare that painfully reminded the man of the wand's previous owner, before handing over the wand. Ollivander was holding the wand as if it were a glass dagger, beautiful yet horrifying.

"Yes, yes... thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. This is the wand...that gave you that scar."

Ollivander slowly looked over both Harrison and Harold, silver eyes widening.

"...And yet I have the feeling that's not the only thing the wand gave you..."

This merely made the undead duo tilt their heads in confusion, but Ollivander gave back the wand without much of a fuss. He then started rummaging through his shop, as if looking for something in particular. After a few minutes of searching, Ollivander emerged from the depths of his dusty shop, a wand box in his hands. Noticing all the dust on it, Harrison recoiled and flew away from such...horrendous filth. This only made the old wandmaker chuckle.

"Do not worry, Spirit of Mr. Potter. You already have you wand, and it is happily bonded to you. This wand is for Mr. Potter's reanimated Vessel."

"We have names, you know." huffed Harrison, "The 'Spirit', me, would prefer to be called Harrison, and the 'Vessel' goes by Harold."

Ollivander smiled at this, and merely nodded. He dusted off the cover and opened the box to reveal a clean, un-dusty wand inside. Old, wrinkled hands took it out of its velvet bed, and examined it.

"Yes... this one should do. Considering that Harrison has the yew wand, it is only natural that Harold might hold its brother wand."

"What do you mean by that?" Harrison asked, curious.

"You see, the phoenix that gave me the feather for the core of your wand gave only one other feather. Unusual combination, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. Try..."

Harold grabbed it with his skeletal right hand, feeling its energy suddenly course into him, and waved it. White sparks flew from the wand, turning into the shape of a lily in bloom. The corpse smiled, and turned to Harrison, who was beaming happily.

"Bravo! And yet so very curious... Well, it was to be expected. You Know Who did terrible things, but they were great nonetheless. I expect great things from the both of you..." Ollivander said as he started wrapping up the wand.

Harrison took out the small pouch and paid the seven galleons for the wand before floating back into Harold. Once again, instead of two undead seven year olds, there looked to be only one living eleven year old, though those in the shop knew better. 'Harry' then bowed to Ollivander, who returned the sentiment, and they parted ways.

* * *

With the hood up and covering their face, going through the Leaky Cauldron was a breeze. Nobody stopped to look at them, and so the two were able to once again get back into the streets of London. Since the trunk they had purchased with Flitwick was shrinkable, it was situated in the hoodie pocket opposite to the one James was sleeping in. Hedwig had grudgingly agreed to say in the trunk for the ride home, content with the promise of an open area with plenty of game. Harrison was relived to find that his pet owl was not going to be completely disagreeable, as the short time spent together has already told the ghost that his new familiar was a stubborn and independent hunter.

When they safely got back home, Harrison and Harold immediately split up. Harold took James out of his pocket, letting the kitten explore its surroundings, and Harrison let Hedwig out, the owl marveling at that amount of space her human had given her. The trunk was placed in the hidden compartment underneath their coffin. It was probably going to reopened later on, knowing Harrison and his need to read ahead.

Before they settled down for the rest of the day, the two undead counterparts had to make a quick run to the local pet store, realizing that while Hedwig absolutely loved the yew tree branch that had been grown specifically for her to be a perch, James needed a bed. Since the cat seemed to like smaller beds, Harold purchased a fluffy grey bed. Harrison agreed to this as the bed would blend in with the rest of the mausoleum.

So with accommodation out of the way, both pets settled into their new morbid home, not really caring that their keeper (Harold) and charge (Harrison) were actually deceased. Harrison took this time to take out "Hogwarts: A History", waiting for Harold to climb into his coffin for the night before placing the stone cover back on and sitting on top of it. He sat there reading the entire night, finishing the book by morning.

Ghosts don't sleep, after all.

* * *

The next month passed rather quickly. Though having two living creatures that actually _chose _to be with the undead horrors made things a bit livelier. In that month, Harrison had read every textbook from cover to cover twice and was pretty sure that he memorized every word, phrase, and illustration. This boost in knowledge was unfortunately taken out on Harold, who although loved his brother-like ghost counterpart to bits, wasn't too interested in the strange escapades of Ulric the Oddball.

Harold spent most of his days tending to the garden and planting some wild catnip near the mausoleum for James. The little black cat was in absolute heaven, and the walking corpse giggled as the kitten rolled around in the plants. While knowledge and books was Harrison's forte, anything hands-on was done by Harold. Because of this, Harold was fascinated by his new wand, his all-bone right hand feeling the wood and the magic that thrummed within. Even though Harold could obviously control plants without a wand, he was curious about what else a wand could be used for.

They had also gone back to Diagon Alley a couple more times, having to get a few extra things (that Harrison read about and rushed to buy) that would be useful during their time at Hogwarts.

Mr. Wesley had visited a couple of times, as well as the odd snake (which somehow Harrison and Harold could talk to, they were still rather confused on that subject), but usually nothing too out of the usual routine transpired.

Which has brought them now to the dawn of September 1st, in which Harrison had the brilliant idea of waking up poor Harold at three o'clock in the morning.

"Why..."

"We need to get ready Harold! This is our first step into living like the...well, Living and I don't want to forget anything important!"

"But...the sun...isn't..."

"I know that however we need to make sure we have packed all our things as well as James's bed and Hedwig's perch and we must make sure that all of our school things are in the truck and even though the Hogwarts Express doesn't leave until eleven I don't think we'll be able to feed you human flesh during the year so we'll be doing that this morning so that we'll be set for Hogwarts. Understood?"

It was times like these Harold wished that ghosts needed to breathe. Nonetheless he nodded and trumped out of his coffin, dragging the cover back on and taking the trunk out of the compartment underneath it. He opened the trunk to find it meticulously ordered. Harrison needn't have worried about the packing, it was already done the night before. Packing in the cat bed, Harold shambled around until he heard some commotion outside the mausoleum.

"Hey! Punk kid! Get back here!"

Oh, food was here. Harold couldn't help but lick half his lips (the other half rotted away two years before) as he walked toward the sound and smell of fresh, living, human flesh. Today's meal was a nasty looking teenager whose clothes were shredded as a fashion statement and whose breath smelled like cheap alcohol. Harold wasn't a fan of beer but food was food... He took a run, moving fast after he caught sight of his prize, the sating for his undying hunger for human flesh. The teen finally saw Harold in the mausoleum, running faster than any normal human should. Feet couldn't move quickly enough, and soon his screams were silenced with a hard bite to the neck.

It was always very messy, and Harrison lamented at having to wash the suit again so soon. But alas, this is why he had woken up his corpse counterpart early enough. Still, the ghost couldn't help but watch in malicious glee as the delinquent was devoured, grinning grimly as the sharp jagged-tooth corpse tore the guy to shreds.

When all was said and done, Harrison took up the few remaining pieces that were left behind, usually clothing and the odd wallet, and washed them before placing the torn fabric in the pile kept in the back of the mausoleum. Then he took Harold to the running pond and proceeded to scrub the blood and dirt out his clothes and face, grimacing at the amount of soil between the corpse's bones on his right hand. This was going to take a while.

* * *

"**Everything in the trunk?**"

"**Check...**"

"**Trunk shrunk and placed in the correct pocket?**"

"**Check...**"

"**Hedwig is in her cage?**"

"**Check...**"

"**James is in the other pocket?**"

"**Check...**"

"**My wand in the left holster and your wand in the right?**"

"**Check...**"

"**Are you listening to me?**"

"**Yes...**"

"**...Impressive.**"

Harrison and Harold were standing at King's Cross station in London, back in their eleven year old Living Harry disguise, looking for the entrance to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. The ghost may or may not have been freaking out at this point, so currently it was Harold manning the body as Harrison slowly descended into an internal nervous breakdown. Walking more upright than usual, one would only think that the little messy haired child was just scared out of his wits while in true fact Harold merely hated walking fast. He was, however, trying to find the Platform, which their mother had told them almost a year ago was a barrier disguised as a wall between Platform Nine and Platform Ten. She unfortunately didn't specify _which_ wall that was, so Harold was left to pander along without any idea where to go, Harrison sitting in a corner of their shared mindspace walking back and forth muttering under his breath about not wanted to forget anything.

That's when Harold saw the group of gingers congregated around a wall. Then he heard the mention of muggles. Watching carefully he saw as the older red haired woman ushered the young teenage male with a cart into the wall, where he simply disappeared. **Bingo**, Harold thought to himself, alerting to Harrison that he had found the entryway. Both of them waited until the family of redheads all filled into the wall, before discreetly walking through.

The sounds and sensation of Platform Nine and Three Quarters could only be described as magical, and the scarlet Hogwarts Express was truly a sight to behold. The fusion of ghost and zombie stood in awe, not unlike some other children as well, before walking further into the station. Soon enough a familiar voice rang out.

"Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville..."

Friends were worth walking faster for, so Harold practically jogged over to where the boy was. Once Neville noticed his friend there, his smile brightened. He waved Harold over, and began to gain some confidence that his new friend seemed to coax out of him.

"Hey Harold! How are you!"

"I...fine..." Harold tried to articulate, man, speaking was _hard_.

Neville, already used to the Boy Who Lived's slower speak pattern, didn't bat an eye and instead began starting conversation.

"So... I've lost my Trevor again, will you help me find him?" Neville asked, both nervous and hopeful.

"Sure..." Harold gave his carefree, lopsided smile, his features rather slack, like usual.

So they boarded the train and started looking for the blasted toad, peering into a few of the compartments and asking if they had seen the wayward amphibian. Eventually they came to one which only had a lone person in there, a girl with bushy brown hair with her face buried in a book.

"Um...hey!" Neville said, which startled the girl out of her book induced coma.

"We...looking...for a...toad...you...see it...?"

The girl blinked at Harold's strange form of speech, but nonetheless curtly nodding and getting up from her seat, her body language showing her excitement, taking her trunk with her. Harrison peered at her with curiosity, but didn't dare interrupt Harold's friend bonding time. The three (four) children walked further down the train and eventually reached a compartment with some older students wearing yellow and black robes, who gladly waved their wands before Trevor zoomed into the room and Neville gave a soft whoop of joy. Walking down to the final cart, they found an empty cart at the very back (which seemed to be larger than all the others, Harrison wondered if the previous occupiers of this compartment had somehow expanded this space), and settled down in there. When questioned why, Harold said he preferred privacy. A few moments later one of the red headed boys that Harold saw earlier opened the compartment door.

"Mind if I sit here?"

They all shook their heads and he came in and plopped down tiredly. He grinned at all of them weakly and extended his hand to Neville first, the Hermione, and lastly Harold.

"I'm Ron Weasley, nice to meet you."

"Neville Longbottom, nice to meet you too."

"Hermione Granger, a pleasure."

They all looked to Harold, who looked conflicted. In truth, Harrison and Harold wanted to introduce themselves, but their clashing personalities did not make that easy. Seeing his friend's difficulty, Neville spoke up again.

"This is Harry Potter, he seems to like going by Harold though."

Both Hermione and Ron gaped. Their eyes took in Harry Potter's visage and expression, before trailing up to the scar. This was not what they were expecting from the Boy Who Lived, but they both silently agreed that he looked nice enough.

It was then that the compartment door opened once again, revealing Draco with two large boys flanking him.

"I'm looking for Har-"

He stopped short, staring at Harold and his company. His eyes glanced to the Longbottom Heir, the Weasley, and the Mud-Muggleborn (after what Harrison had said during Madame Malkin's, he was trying to best impress the boy). Shocked ice blue eyes blinked, trying to comprehend this new idea, and Harrison's strange zoned expression. Ron immediately tensed, along with Neville. Hermione looked a little confused. They were all looking at the new arrival, not noticing when Harrison took the reigns.

"...Harrison? What are you doing in the company of-" Weasley was about to retort something when the three seated children heard a voice behind them.

"Oh come off it, Draco. You've barely even met them! Do not judge those you never know them condone them! That's not only rude, but incredibly prejudiced."

Neville, Hermione and Ron's head whipped around to stare at...Harold?

He was sitting far more upright, more proper. His face was serious and his green eyes shown with a bookish intelligence he didn't have just moments ago.

"But Harrison, you don't understand-"

"No, I'm afraid it is _you_ that doesn't understand, Draco. Personality wise, what do you know about these people, personally?"

Draco gaped at Harrison, before sighing in defeat and nodding. Harrison's tone had become rather dangerous and he didn't want to lose such a valuable friend. Not only that, but there was something about Harrison that made you want to listen to him, to see things his way, a compelling aura that he couldn't place nor fight. Malfoy rubbed his hands before offering one to Weasley.

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. And I'm sorry for judging you before I even met you."

He did this to Neville and Hermione, who were shocked by such a strange turnaround.

"This is Crabbe and Goyle, my father and their fathers have a pact to have them as my bodyguards."

Now the seven (eight) children sat in the compartment in a relatively awkward silence until Hermione cleared her throat.

"Draco, I couldn't help but notice... You called Harold Harrison before..." She turned to Harold...Harrison?

"And _you_ completely did a personality twist once he appeared! What is going on?"

Draco looked confused.

"He introduced himself as Harrison to me..."

"He introduced himself as Harold to me..." Said Neville.

They all simultaneously turned to look at 'Harry', who had the same conflicted expression as before. Hermione was now staring at the boy as if he were a particularly interesting puzzle.

"It's...true on both effects...there is a Harrison and...there is a...Harold..." The child appeared to be fighting with himself for some sort of domination.

"...I get it now." Hermione said quietly, "Harrison and Harold are...two different people."

"How does that even work?" Ron asked aloud.

"Let's just leave it at that. It's something I'd rather not talk about. Yet. I'd rather get to know one another before spilling my insides for all to see." Harrison replied, earning a few chuckles from the children sitting around him.

It was at this point the Trolley Lady came along with the snack cart. Harold, the sweet tooth, chipped in with Draco and Neville to buy a pile of sweets. They shared it amongst the rest of the compartment crew and they all spoke freely and happily after that, indulging in treats while Harrison and Harold (mostly Harrison) took turns contributing to conversation. Comradeship bloomed, and the mixture of Undead Spirit and Vessel thought that maybe this Living business wasn't so hard after all.

* * *

**Oni: Whew! That's the longest chapter so far! I hope you guys are alright with my choice of friends. Certain things will be revealed later about our undead duo, but for now...**

**Harrison: We hoped you enjoyed this chapter!**

**Harold: Please...review...Reviews...are nice...**

**Oni: You said it, Harold! Yes people please please PLEASE review! And I'll see you next time, my pretties! **


	6. Another Friend and a Sorting Hat

_**Grim Grinning Ghosts Chapter 5 - Another Friend and a Sorting Hat**_

**AN: **

**Oni: Well, THIS took longer than expected.**

**Harrison: Well, at least you updated.**

**Harold: Yay...**

**Harrison: What took you so long?**

**Oni: Some writers block and my new system.**

**Harold: New...system?**

**Oni: Well you see, I have currently four fanfictions in the works, so to make things smoother, I've created a prioritizing system. **

**Harrison: And what do you consider priorities then?**

**Oni: Well, I've been basing my fics on the amount of Reviews I get for each fic. Think about it, the more Reviews, the more I know the readers want more.**

**Oni: Currently my other fic, Dimensional Veils and Magical Aliens, is in the top priority position. I get a lot of reviews for that.**

**Harold: What...about...us?**

**Oni: Well, Grim Grinning Ghosts and Union of Roses are going to be the next updated, which is this chapter.**

**Harrison: I see.**

**Oni: Yup! Also, you guys have to do your thing!**

**Harrison: Ah yes, Harold?**

Harold: "Normal Speech"

"**Mindspace**"

Writing

**Harrison: Oni does not own Harry Potter nor does she own the original plot bunny from Tumblr. **

**Oni: That's all for now, ONWARDS!**

* * *

"...and the Quaffle can pass through one of three hoops on either side to earn ten points a goal..."

"...and it's the job of the Keeper to prevent the Chasers from scoring..."

"...don't forget the Beaters, who have bats to hit away those Bludgers..."

"...and then there's the Seeker, they have to catch the Snitch..."

"...150 points and the game ends after that..."

Listening to Draco and Ron explain Quiddich was like watching a tennis match. The two were completely in sync with each other as they passionately described their favorite sport. Neville, who wasn't allowed to play but understood the rules, was explaining some of the wizarding terms to Hermione, who was listening, enraptured. Harrison had heard the word 'sport' and tuned out while Harold was hanging onto Weasley and Malfoy's every word.

Crabbe and Goyle were in a heated argument on what is considered a fair trade for Vincent's Morgana Le Faye card, with Gregory insisting that _yes_, and Gringotts and a Babayaga card was an _equal_ trade. The Morgana figure in the card was smirking proudly at the fact that her owner thought she was still more valuable than those other two cards, while Gringotts had left his picture out of sheer boredom and Babayaga was angrily frothing because how _dare _that boy think she wasn't as important as that smirking broad. Eventually Goyle threw in a Dumbledore card and they made the trade.

At some point conversation deviated to that of Hogwarts Houses. After another round of animated explaining, Harold's eyes dilating because of all the mental stimuli, each House was described with as little bias as was possible for Malfoy and Weasley. They all were rather set with what house they wanted to go into - Ron and Neville wanted Gryffindor, Hermione was sure 1that she would be a Ravenclaw, and Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were adamant on Slytherin. When Harrison and Harold were asked, Harold shrugged before Harrison spoke up.

"Well, I don't think it really matters where we end up. We'll still be going to the same school as you lot, still going to be, ah, living under the same roof. Though for the record, my personality is closer to the textbook examples of a Ravenclaw or Slytherin, and Harold could either be placed in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, knowing him. I have no idea how we are to be sorted, however..."

"Fred and George said we'd have to fight a Troll..." Ron replied.

"I hope that's not it..." Neville groaned, putting his head in his hands, "I don't think that I'll be able to duel another wizard, never mind a Troll..."

"Maybe they were just joking?" Draco offered nervously, as alas his father never told him how he was to be sorted either.

"It wouldn't be the first time... They tell the truth half the time so I can't tell when they're pulling my leg. Even some of the crazy stories turned out to be true..."

"Well," Hermione sniffed, "I highly doubt a school would endanger children like that on the first day, it's a prestigious school!"

"It could be a hat..." Crabbe offered.

"And you pull your House out of it or something..." added Goyle.

"That...makes...sense..." Harold replied, and the rest of the students nodded in confirmation, hoping that was the case.

A disembodied voice then emanated from somewhere above them.

"_We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train. It will be taken to the school separately._"

"Well, we'll see soon enough." muttered Harrison.

"I'll go to the toilets to change then, I'll be back in a moment." stated Hermione, gathering her uniform and leaving the compartment.

* * *

When the door closed with a soft 'click', the boys began to change into their own uniforms. That was when one of them noticed something peculiar.

Crabbe and Goyle, while on the outside were seemingly stupid, knew how pull a decent punch. With this knowledge of fighting in hand-to-hand combat, it could also be derived that they knew most origins of old scars and bruises. So when Goyle lifted his head to button up his shirt, he caught sight of the Boy-Who-Lived. More specifically, the ugly bruise that wrapped around the boy's neck. Narrowing his eyes, Gregory made out the imprint of a giant hand. A bruise in the shape of a large hand around someone's neck? That obviously pointed to some vicious choking.

This was not a comforting thought. Wasn't Potter supposed to be their Wizarding Savior? Dumbledore made it clear to the public that the Boy Who Lived was kept safe and away from prying eyes, but now the lumbering first-year-to-be was starting to have doubts on the 'safe' part.

Gregory had scars from where his father attacked him, sure, but those were expected, they were sparring. It was a mutual agreement to the training, and he had given his own father a few lasting bruises later on, when he got better at throwing punches. Potter (the both of them?) didn't seem like the type to get into fights, so the bruise led to some frightening conclusions, if Goyle was right.

The large boy turned his head before the green eyed boy could catch him staring, but his eyes met with quite a few more gazes than he had expected. Longbottom, Weasley, and Draco all were staring at him in confusion. Gregory realized that his face must have gone back to his looming frown, and a quick glance at Vincent told him that he wasn't the only one who saw the bruise. He then turned back to his platinum blond friend and mouthed 'later'. Draco got the hint and nodded; content for the moment. Longbottom and Weasley were still confused, but one look from Malfoy let them know that they would get answers later.

Goyle knew that asking Potter was not a good idea, as he had skirted around the subject of having some sort of duel personality problem when drilled, so the pureblood scion kept his lips firmly pressed together.

Soon enough the Muggleborn girl returned with her cloak worn in a fashion that suggested that she had studied Wizarding culture extensively, and the Hogwarts Express began to slow down. Another quick glance at the strange raven haired boy proved to Goyle that the boy was hiding something, as his collar had been buttoned all the way up, hiding the bruise on his neck expertly. The slower speaking half, Harold, seemed to be tugging at the tie that was probably tied by the quicker talking one, Harrison.

As the train slowed to a stop, Goyle tried to put the pieces he had found together to form a better conclusion, to no avail.

* * *

Harrison couldn't shake the sense of déjà vu that he was feeling. The train felt eerily familiar, not that he would tell Harold that. He remembered going to the back of the train alone, sitting alone, wondering what was in store for him in the future. These passing hours had been anything but, filled with laughter and it wasn't...cold like the memory was.

How odd, he would have to look into that.

As the train slowed, Harrison felt a wave of apprehension fill his falsely-beating heart. Already his new tentative friends knew that there were two people sharing a single vessel, how long would it take for people to find out what they were really hiding? How would they react?

It was this apprehension that made Harrison promise himself that he would try harder to keep this act together. How he was going to do that, he wasn't sure, because he had lived life in a cupboard under the stairs, and the remaining years were spent as a ghost in a mausoleum.

Harold was manning his body while Harrison was having this tiny mental crisis as per usual, and he tugged the tie around his neck a little more. While he understood the need for the mark on his neck to be hidden, Harold did not like anything to be wrapped tightly on his neck for the same reason as why the bruise existed in the first place. He trudged with his new friends off the train, absentmindedly noting that the sun was beginning to set, and that the wind was rather cold (not that the corpse-in-disguise minded, he didn't really feel it anyway). They had squeezed through the large crowd of students that were unboarding the train onto the small, dark station where they had landed.

Looking into the near distance, Harold saw the largest living man he had ever seen in his life. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair. Said eyes were shining with mirth as an enormous hand clasped around an old-styled oil lantern. Thinking back, Harold remembered his father talking about the Keeper of Keys or something... a groundskeeper or something, named Hagrid. The giant man was, in fact, a half giant, who, according to the ghost of James Charlus Potter, was incredibly kind and loved anything that was monstrous or dangerous (and adored anything that fell into both those categories).

"Firs' years! Firs' years! Follow me!" Hagrid boomed out, with a wide smile beneath his untamable bushy beard.

Obediently the young children began to congregate around the giant of a man, and when there seemed to be no more students to gather, Hagrid started to lead them down a narrow stone path. Harold, ever the night roamer, was easily able to see the mass of trees that grew on other side. To anyone else, this would have probably looked ominous and frightening, but Harold had resided in a graveyard so the surroundings instead gave off a homey feel. That and Harold was usually the reason why people were scared of the Surrey Graveyard to begin with.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

As they rounded the bend, there was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake, its bay filled with around eleven rickety wooden boats. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. Hogwarts, even from this distance, was truly a sight to behold. As they neared the edge of the lake Hagrid called out once more, pointing to the small fleet of boats.

"No more'n four to a boat!"

With his eyes, Harrison scanned his friends and counted them. Including himself and Harold as a single person, there were seven of them. Vincent, Gregory and Draco got into a boat with Ron (they were sticking rather close together, and Harrison felt a pang of jealousy in his nonexistent heart), which seemed to be a large surprise to some other students who were boarding their own little boats. The look on Draco's face when he stepped into the grimy boat was almost hilarious if Harrison didn't also have to get into one of those moldy boats as well. Hermione, Neville, and the undead duo got into another boat, the one next to their other friends. Inside their mind, Harrison started to have yet another aneurysm at the state of the boat they were sitting in.

"**They have magic! Why don't they just fix these things?!**"

"**It's not...that bad...**"

"**Maybe to you, but look at the state of this thing! It looks like it will fall apart any second!**"

"**I can...swim...**"

"_**That's not the point!**_"

Their concentration was interrupted by another student sitting down in their boat, making it rock slightly and put Harrison into another panic attack, leaving Harold to roll his eyes internally and greet their new acquaintance. He was a dark skinned individual who was just about as nervous as everyone else, but he had his eyes trained on the Malfoy/Weasley duo which was currently deep in conversation about Quiddich teams.

"A Malfoy and a Weasley, friends. Now that's a sight to see." said the stranger.

"I suppose their families have a feud then?" Hermione asked.

Both the stranger and Neville nodded.

"Yeah," Neville piped up, "Their fathers absolutely hate each other."

"This year is going to be interesting." the stranger said smiling.

"Who...are..?" Harold started, but couldn't muster the strength to speak any more.

The stranger looked Harold up and down, and seemed to nod to himself.

"Blaise Zabini." he answered, giving a curt nod.

"Hermione Granger."

"Neville Longbottom, and this is Harold Potter."

Blaise's eyebrows raised, his eyes trailing up to the lightening scar, but did not make any remark.

"He's got a duel personality disorder, so don't be alarmed if he changes his speech." Hermione added.

Duel personality? Well it did make for a good cover-up even if they were just two people temporarily sharing Harold's body, but if it gave them an excuse without giving themselves away, Harold was okay with that. Blaise simply nodded, giving Harold an appraising glance.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, "Right then, FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Harold marveled at the sight of the boats moving effortlessly on the surface, before he caught sight of movement underneath. A few tentacles emerged from the lake, causing some students to shriek in fear. Harold, not afraid in the slightest, happily reached out to pat one of the large appendages, much to the horror of his friends. He just gave them his normal loped smile in silent reply.

It was then that the castle came into better view. Everyone turned silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff.

They all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. The students were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, Oakwood front door.

"Everyone here?" asked Hagrid.

After he had received the silent nods from the to-be first years, Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door, which swung open at once.

A tall, black-haired (with bits of grey showing) witch in emerald-green robes stood there imposingly, her eyes scanning the new batch of Hogwarts students. Both Lily and James raved about this woman, the one Lily called 'Professor McGonagall' and James called 'Minnie'. According to both of them, she was not a woman to cross, with his father wincing at some unsaid memory. At this point, Harold had to agree.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." was her reply.

Without another word, Professor McGonagall turned around and opened the huge double doors wide, and the entrance hall revealed was almost in itself the size of a mid-sized house. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

Silently the students followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harold could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right (the rest of the school must already be in there) but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They all crowded in, standing closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

For some reason, Harrison once again felt a wave of déjà vu roll over him.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," started Professor McGonagall, gaining the attention of all the students there as her voice echoed through the chamber, "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House Dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered on Neville, whose cloak was a bit crooked, and Ron, whose nose had a small smudge. Harrison tried to tame his hair a little, but alas, it still stuck up everywhere. Draco nervously flicked some dirt off his cloak, while Hermione fixed her tie.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall, "Please wait quietly."

When she closed the doors, Harrison (after fixing his hair to make it look at least a stylish messy like he usually had as a spirit) made his way over to Neville to help fix up his uniform properly, eliciting a round of thanking on the round faced boy's part. He then went to Vincent and Gregory to do the same, this time earning bewildered looks and thanks in surprised tones. Harrison caught Hermione looking at him in some sort of dawning understanding (whilst still helping scrub the bit of dirt off of Ron's nose) and he gave her a nervously weak smile in return. Heaving a sigh (it felt good, even if the dead couldn't breathe, the simple act seemed to calm both the ghost and the corpse) Harrison surveyed his friends.

"So this is it, almost time to greet our fates for the next seven years..." They all nodded, a little too nervous to answer.

"I want you all to promise me something because I know some of you were raised with a specific mindset and so I am merely doing this to make sure so please do not be offended."

Eyebrows were raised, but Harrison chose to chalk that up to his actual speech, while Harold did a mental facepalm because the ghost had, once again, spoken rapidly without breathing. Hermione started to smile a little for some reason, and the rest nodded.

"Alright, promise me this. No matter what House we go into, we shall look past it and still be friends."

Draco opened his mouth to retort, as well as Ron, but paused as they considered it. Neville, Hermione, Vincent and Gregory gave their affirmation, and even Blaise gave Harrison a silent nod, albeit with an odd look on his face. Eventually the blond and the red head gave their affirmations as well, earning them a brilliant smile from Harrison.

"Wonderful!"

It was then that several children behind them screamed, causing the ghost to whirl the vessel around to see what was going on. What he saw made his eyes widen in surprise. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing.

What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost... I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered. Harrison could only stare in shock. Ghosts? Here? Transparent things, just like him? He didn't know whether to be joyful or horrified. On one hand, he might have some understandable companionship, but that would blow his cover to smithereens, unless they could keep their lips sealed.

It was then that Harrison wondered if ghosts could sense other ghosts, but he really hoped that was not the case. None of the other ghosts seemed to be staring at him specifically, so the ghost felt his anxiety ebb away slightly.

Slightly.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them, "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old House, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice, "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Every student numbly got into a line of single formation, Harrison squeezing between Hermione and Neville. They followed the thin-lipped woman through the large double doors into the Great Hall.

Neither Harrison nor Harold had ever imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting, laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting.

Professor McGonagall led the first years up there, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harold looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Hermione whispered to their little group, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

"So did I." replied Harrison, "Incredible, isn't it?"

This elicited a soft giggle from the brown haired girl.

Their attention returned to Professor McGonagall, who silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat, which was was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. This caused Harrison to blanch and Harold to nod, impressed. For a few seconds, there was only silence, and Harrison realized that all the students were staring at the dirty old hat.

The hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and, to Harold's amusement, the hat began to sing.

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, _

_But don't judge on what you see, _

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black, _

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat _

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head _

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you _

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry _

_Set Gryffindors apart!_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true _

_And unafraid of toil!_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind!_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. In their shared mindspace, Harrison screeched.

"**We have to put **_**that**_** on our head?!**"

"**So...it was...a hat...after all...**" Harold looked to where Vincent and Gregory were, to find them grinning at a dumbfounded Draco.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause and...

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harold saw the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time, and several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers, and Harrison noted two twin red heads (Ron's brothers? George and Fred, right?) catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became the first Slytherin.

"Crabbe, Vincent!"

Vincent strode to the hat, and was soon placed with Millicent at the Slytherin House.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finnigan, Seamus" sat under the hat for almost an entire minute before...

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Goyle, Gregory!" joined his friend at that Serpent House.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione stumbled in her excitement, and Harrison gave her an encouraging smile before the hat was dropped on her head. Like Seamus, it took a little while, before the hat opened its mouth and shouted out.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harrison raised his eyebrows, but smiled widely and clapped loudly as she giddily joined the table of scarlet and gold.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

Neville, encouraged by the smile that Harold gave, stiffly marched up to the stool. It took longer than normal to sort the boy, but eventually the hat bellowed out its decision.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Draco stood up proudly and practically swaggered to the hat, earning a snort of amusement from Harrison. The hat barely touched his hair when it shouted out.

"SLYTHERIN!"

With a smirk donning his face, Draco went to join the House he was adamantly for, but not before offering a genuine smile to Harrison.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne" and then, at last...

"Potter, Harry!"

* * *

**Oni: Yes, as an apology of the long wait, I hope you enjoyed this longer chapter.**

**Harrison: Remember, if you want this fic updated faster, Review, Review, Review!**

**Harold: Thanks...for...all who...have...Favorited...Followed...and...Reviewed...**

**Oni: Until next time, my pretties!**


	7. Hat Conversations, Paranormal Laws, and

_**Grim Grinning Ghosts Chapter 6 - Hat Conversations, Paranormal Laws, and a Damned Poltergeist**_

**AN:**

**Oni: See? That wasn't such a long wait!**

**Harrison: Hooray! We updated!**

**Oni: Yep! And here is the new chapter! Harold, Harrison, will you do the honors?**

**Harold:**

"Normal Speech"

"**Mindspace**"

"**The Sorting Hat**"

**Harrison: Oni does not own Harry Potter nor the original theory that sparked this story. **

**Oni: ONWARDS!**

* * *

As Harrison stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

"**Oh dear, aren't we getting a bit of attention...**"

"**Why...us?**"

"**Probably because Harry Potter is considered the Boy Who Lived, which is rather ironic, don't you think? Considering that we are most certainly **_**not**_** living.**"

Both of them nervously approached the stool, watching hundreds of students craned to get a look at him. A part of them wondered where these people, who apparently adored Harry Potter, were when they were in desperate need of help, when he was starved, beaten, _killed_. If they were _that_ much of a big deal, wasn't a brief check-up on their general wellbeing enough? Harrison noted sourly behind Harold's outside expression of nervousness that many were climbing over each other to even catch a glimpse, and yet he was absolutely positive that none of these people knew that he had been deceased for four years.

His vision of the Great Hall was suddenly compromised when something made of cloth was dropped onto his head, over his eyes.

"**My, my. What do we have here?**" came a voice inside their head.

"**Why hello there, are you the Sorting Hat?**"

"**Indeed,**" replied the Hat, "**Indeed. And what a shame of what has happened to you. Yet...I believe that something phenomenal will emerge from what has become of young Mr. Potter.**"

"**What..?**"

"**I am not surprised that you are confused, but now is not the time to discuss such things. Not yet, at least. For now, it is my honor and duty to Sort you, though the method I must take with you will have to be different, of course.**

**Hm...Harold the sentient Inferius, you have an astounding level of trust that you put into your new friends, the ones that you have only just met hours, minutes ago. Your love for plants almost rivals that of both your new friend Neville, who lies with the Gryffindors now, and the Head of Hufflepuff, Professor Sprout. Either House would welcome you home.**

**Now...Harrison the Spirit, you have a rather interesting dilemma here, yes, yes. I remember Sorting you before.**"

"**Pardon me,**" interrupted Harrison, "**but what do you mean by that? This is my first time, no?**"

"**So you don't remember? How interesting, yes, very interesting indeed...**"

"**To be honest, sir Hat, you have thrown into quite the loop.**"

"**I don't doubt this. But since the moment Helga stitched me out of an old cloak, since Rowena taught me to speak, since Salazar taught me to read hearts, since Godric breathed life into me, I have been able to see inside the heart, the mind, and the very soul of each and every one of the children that are placed under me. **

**I remember you, my boy, I remember you very well.**

**Just like before, I see the gears turning in your head, working about how you can gain information on the Wizarding World whilst trying not to reveal Mr. Potter's demise. I see the memories of you leading unsuspecting people to theirs deaths to feed your hungry counterpart. I see your ambition to rise above those you assumed to have abandoned Mr. Potter. **

**But I must say, you have changed quite a lot since the last time we met. While you still hold the ambition and thirst for knowledge like you had all those decades ago, there are so every large changes, yes. You give your loyalty more freely than you used to, your devotion to Harold shows that as plain as day. **

**I remember you, boy, and I remember my previous decision. Long ago, I put you in the House of the Serpent, like you asked.**

**Now it is your choice on where you will go, how you will be perceived for the rest of your...stay at Hogwarts.**"

"**I...don't...understand...**"

"**Neither do I, but we must make a choice. I must confess, sir Hat, your words confuse me. However, I trust that you are telling the truth, even though I do not understand what you mean.**"

"**What...choice...now?**"

"**Well, Harold, where do **_**you**_** want to go?**"

"**Hat said...Gryffindor...or...Hufflepuff...is good...for me...**"

"**Very true, and yet he said that I was, however outlandish the claim, that I was Sorted previously into Slytherin.**"

"**Then...Slytherin?**" Harold's voice sounded sad.

"**Perhaps, but you are not cunning, you are more loyal and braver than I could ever be. I will not let my decision now hinder your experience here. For that I am ruling out both Slytherin and Ravenclaw, because I know you won't be able to feel comfortable there.**"

"**But...what about...you?**"

"**I will be fine, Harold. My priority is, and always will be, your wellbeing. For goodness' sake you have friends now, I'm not going to pull that away from you! I can find a way to understand the House that we go into, be it Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.**"

"**How very thoughtful of you, Harrison. It shows a great deal of loyalty yourself, to your counterpart and bravery to face a House that you do not believe will fit you. You really have changed...and I believe for the better. Hm... Now which one to put you in...**

**Both of you hold courage and loyalty, however...Harold wants to stay with his friends, even if he knows they will be under the same roof.**"

"**I'm not surprised at that.**"

"**Then...I can..?**"

"**Yes, little vessel, you can. I know that both of you can indeed flourish in...**"

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat screamed aloud.

"**Sir Hat, who am I?**" Harrison asked tentatively.

"**That's the wonderful thing, you are Harrison James Potter, completely yourself. You are you, and you can't let anyone else tell you otherwise.**"

"**But-**"

Before Harrison could ask the Hat what it meant, his vision exploded with light as the Sorting Hat was lifted from his head. The roaring cheers finally made their way into his ears, pounding against his head. Slightly disoriented, the two made their way to the table draped with scarlet and gold, where the cheering and applause were originating from. A red headed boy that had to be around fifteen (this must be Percy, Harrison supplied to Harold) got up from his seat to shake their hand vigorously, and the Twins yelled out a loud chant.

"We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Harold found where Neville was sitting, and sat down in between his beaming friend, which happened to position him opposite of Hermione, who was smiling widely as well. Taking a quick glance backwards, Harrison gave an apologetic half-smile to his friends at the Slytherin table. Draco rolled his eyes, a smirk on his face, while Vincent and Gregory shrugged in unison.

The ghost with the ruffs he saw earlier floated to where they sat, and Harrison felt himself tense. Would the ghost find out? Would their cover be blown? He didn't have time to react as the ruff ghost patted him on the arm. It felt normal, solid, like anyone else. Still, Harrison knew that a ghost's touch was supposed to be ice cold to the living, so he shivered.

Observing his surroundings, Harrison turned his gaze toward the High Table, where that professors and faculty all sat. Professor Flitwick had a resigned look on his face, he must have wanted to see 'Harry' in his House, but smiled at Harrison when he saw the boy looking at him. The half-giant Hagrid was beaming proudly at him and waving his arm happily.

Soon enough the noise died down enough to proceed with the Sorting, and Dean Thomas joined them at the House of the Lions, Lisa Turpin scuttled to the House of the Eagle, and after that...

"Weasley, Ronald!"

Harold gave Ron a thumbs up, the red headed boy giving him a nervous grin before marching to the stool. When the Hat was dropped over his head, Harrison noted that Percy and the Twins had their eyes glued to their little brother. A few seconds and the Hat shouted out loud and clear.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

This time, Harold and Harrison cheered along with Ron's brothers as the youngest Weasley boy scampered to their table, a winning smile on his face. He sat between Harry and Neville, and a relieved smile escaped his lips.

"Well done, Ron, excellent." Percy called from where he was, but before Ron could reply, the final name was called out.

"Zabini, Blaise!"

Blaise appeared to be almost bored on the outside, but years of reading victims helped him pick out the fact that his pace was too quick, a common sign of nervousness. He stood under the Hat for almost two minutes before the Hat made his decision.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harrison clapped politely as Blaise joined Draco, Vincent and Gregory at the House of the Serpent. After he was seated, Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment with the list of names and took the Sorting Hat away.

It was then that an old wizened man with a long white beard and terrible sense of style stood up from where he sat in the center of the High Table. He had bright blue eyes that twinkled, which were framed with half-moon glasses, and Harrison was assaulted with an image of the man at a much younger age with auburn hair that didn't go as for down his chest as he did now. This could only be one person.

Albus Dumbledore beamed at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," he said, "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words.

And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

Thank you!"

As he sat back down, everyone clapped and cheered. Harold was confused, as Harrison didn't know what to think of their Headmaster. They turned to where Percy was clapping.

"Is he...a bit mad?" Percy blinked for a second before replying.

"Mad? He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Confused at Percy's last statement, they turned to face the table once more, only to find the empty golden plates were not so empty anymore. Instead, they were piled high with a variety of dishes: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

Harold's mouth watered at all the dishes, and began to pile onto his plate something from every kind. Harrison smiled at his counterpart, tucking in along with the undead corpse. They both could eat normally, as they had with the cakes and the sweets, but it's not something they needed to do, it was just nice to taste what they had missed out on all those years in the Dursley abode. The food was absolutely delicious.

"That does look good..." said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harold cut up his steak, causing Neville to look up curiously.

"Can't you..?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't

need to, of course, but one does miss it."

Harrison blinked at the ghost's words. Glancing around, he noted the amount of candles floating above them, the plates filled with food, and the ghost with the ruffs. Feeling slightly sorry for the man, he took an extra empty plate and began to fill it with a little bit of everything, just like had had with his own plate. The ghost and Neville watched him with curiosity until Harrison lifted the plate to the ruffed ghost.

"Here, an offering."

The ghost blinked at him, and had a sorrowful smile.

"Why thank you, no one has ever done anything like that, but I still can't eat. I'm a ghost."

"Ghosts an eat anything given as an offering and take anything given as a token. I've...read up on paranormal laws." was Harrison's reply.

The ghost with the ruffs just stared at Harrison, then at the plate (which even held the golden silverware) and took it with slightly trembling translucent hands. It did not fall through his fingers as things usually did. Picking up the fork (and marveling at the pact that he could _pick something up_) he skewered on of the roast potatoes and placed it into his mouth. The reaction was instantaneous. The ghost's silvery eyes widened, before closing in absolute bliss. He then proceeded to feast on his offering like man who had not eaten in, well, four hundred years. Translucent tears actually began to roll down his cheeks in happiness. Harrison beamed, while Neville just stared at him in shock. In fact, the entire Gryffindor table was staring at the Boy Who Lived, who had somehow given a ghost the ability to eat. Hermione was looking at him curiously.

"Where did you read that?"

"Paranormal Laws: Theories, Speculation, and Experimentation by U. . It's a rather interesting book. The Surrey library has three copies." Neville gaped.

"A _muggle_ book told you that?"

"**A...book...and...experience...**" Harold said, grinning to Harrison, who internally huffed.

"Why so surprised? The two worlds intersect more freely than you think. You can't keep them apart for very long, after all. We share the same planet, no?" Harrison replied.

"Well I for one am very thankful that Mr. Potter found out about this law." added the ruffed ghost, who had put down his plate to chat, "I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" stated Ron suddenly, "My brothers told me about you, you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"_Nearly_ Headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?" Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed at this, but gave a short sigh.

"Like this," he said irritably.

He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it were on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and proclaimed to his awed audience.

"So, new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable, he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harrison turned to the Slytherin table, where a ghost with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was floating near Draco, who seemed uncomfortable with his presence.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before, and Nearly Headless Nick looked down at his empty plate dejectedly. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...

Immediately Harold began to gather every kind of dessert closest to him. Harrison took a bit of each, put them onto a large plate, and offered it to Sir Nicholas once more. The ghost beamed at Harrison in gratitude, before digging into the sweets. After that task was finished, Harold took over and started gorging himself with dessert. All the spirit counterpart could do was roll his eyes at his zombie counterpart's antics. It seemed to him like Harold and Ron were have some sort of eating contest, by the way they were stuffing themselves. Neville laughed, he probably knew which 'personality' was in control at the moment, and took another bite of his chocolate eclair. Hermione huffed, and Harrison noted that she wasn't eating much of the desserts. Ah yes, now Harrison remembered. Her parents were dentists, weren't they? No wonder she wouldn't be eating much.

"Hermione." the girl in question looked up, "One feast with dessert is not going to harm your teeth."

She blinked at his words and looked down at her plate. When she glanced back, Harold had resumed shoveling food into his face. Once again the bushy haired girl stared down at her plate. A few seconds later, she helped herself to some chocolate dipped strawberries.

Conversation had turned to backgrounds and family.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus, "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him." The others laughed.

"What about you, Neville?" asked Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," replied Neville, "but the family thought I was a squib for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me. He pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned... but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced, all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here, they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

"Well I'm glad that you made it, but that's horrible, what your family did! Did they have no concern for your wellbeing, your health, your _life_?!" Harrison screeched quietly.

There was a pause as the boys each digested Neville's story and Harrison's words. Silence reigned until Dean Thomas started about his Muggleborn status. Sighing to himself, he turned to the other side of the table to find Hermione conversing with Percy about lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult-" "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing...").

Emerald eyes turned back to the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet, Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore, and a man in an absurd purple turban (wasn't this the same man we passed at the Leaky Cauldron?), was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. This man could only be 'Dear Sev'. Even from here, the man cut an imposing figure, dressed as if he were going to a funeral (Harrison laughed at his joke once more), and onyx eyes conveyed his intelligence. Severus turned his head and glared at them, but Harrison kept a cool gaze pinned on the man. Snape raised an eyebrow, still slightly glaring, and turned back to the man in the purple turban. Purple turban man seemed to be absolutely frightened by Snape, and Harrison's attention was once again dragged to that stupid turban of his.

Suddenly, Harrison felt the same pulling sensation that he had when he passed the man in the bar, and he felt a jolt in their scar.

"Ouch!" Harrison clapped a hand to their head.

"What is it?" asked Percy, slightly worried.

"N-nothing." The pain had gone as quickly as it had come, instead he asked, "Who are those two? The man with the turban and the one sitting next to him?"

"Oh, the one in the turban is Professor Quirrell, he teaches Defense Against The Dark Arts. As for the one next to him...no wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to. Everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

From what Lily had told them, Severus Snape did enjoy Potions quite a lot, but he probably didn't enjoy teaching the subject to a bunch of children.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem, just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins, "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

Quiddich trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

"_**Well**_**, how very wise it is to announce that to a hall full of curious children.**" Harrison muttered inside their head.

"**Can we...see it..?**" Harold asked hopefully.

"**See what I mean? Curious children. But I don't see why not. We already died a very painful death anyway.**"

"He's not serious, is he?" Ron muttered to Percy.

"Must be," replied Percy, frowning at Dumbledore, "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere, the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"**How curious, we are most definitely investigating.**"

"**Hooray...**" Harold cheered.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore.

Harold and Harrison noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed out:

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, _

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling _

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air, _

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing, _

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_J__ust do your best, _

_We'll do the rest, _

_And learn until our brains all rot._"

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march, to both Harold and Harrison's intense amusement. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said wistfully, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

As they got up, Hermione giggled at them.

"And what are you laughing at?"

"The tune you chose, Spooky Scary Skeletons, really?"

"What can I say? I like the song."

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. When they passed the portraits hanging on the wall (which were alive), the paintings would whisper to each other and point to them. Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. The students climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, until they suddenly halted in their path. A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist."

"Poltergeist?" some students whispered.

"**Ugh, **_**poltergeists**_**.**" Harrison internally sneered.

"**Like...the ones...you...chased...away...back home?**"

"**Yes.**"

Percy raised his voice, "Peeves - show yourself"

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he cried, with an evil cackle, "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He swooped suddenly at them, and they all ducked.

"**How rude, I hate him already.**"

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, almost dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head if it were not for Harold catching them. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

"Thanks, Harold."

"You're...welcome..."

"You want to watch out for Peeves," muttered Percy, as they set off again, "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she asked.

"Caput Draconis," answered Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall.

The first years all scrambled through it and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs. Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase (they were obviously in one of the towers) they found their beds: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, the four living boys of them pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed. Harrison meticulously put on their own sleeping garments, before lying on his own bed (how long has it been since they've slept in a real bed? Probably back when he and his parents were still living, breathing beings).

"Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered sleepily to them through the hangings, before, "Get off, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."

There was a small scuffle, but eventually the red haired boy said his good-nights to his dorm mates, closed his curtains, and fell asleep. Sleepily Neville had done the same.

Harold was left awake, uncomfortable in his surroundings. He was used to his stone coffin, hard floor, hard ceiling, hard walls boxing him in. Being on a bed made him feel vulnerable, open. Even as Harry, he had slept in a small, cramped space in the cupboard under the stairs. It just didn't fell right.

Carefully, Harold climbed off the bed and onto the floor, closed the curtains, then crawled under the bed. Laying on his back, Harold breathed a sigh of relief. Now with privacy, Harrison floated out of Harold's body, and the small corpse looked up at his counterpart.

"Well, I'll go explore then. Goodnight Harold." whispered Harrison.

Harold smiled and blinked sleepily. He crossed his arms in graveyard fashion, bid his ghost counterpart goodnight, and fell asleep. Harrison turned himself invisible (all ghosts can, you know) and floated through the wall to explore their new home.

Sometimes it payed to not need to sleep.

* * *

**AN:**

**Oni: Another chapter done! I hope you guys liked it!**

**Harrsion: See you next time!**

**Harold: Don't...forget...to...Review...**

**Oni: And we shall see you next time, my pretties!**


	8. Night Wandering and Classes

_**Grim Grinning Ghost Chapter 7 - Night Wandering and Classes**_

**AN:**

**Oni: Hello again!**

**Harrison: It has been quite a while since you last updated.**

**Oni: Yeah, college is taking its toll on me, I'm afraid. So as an apology, please enjoy the longer chapter. I've kept to my system, and because of all your loevely reviews, this is my first priority fic now.**

**Harold: On...that...subject...**

**Oni: Yes, on that subject... ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FOLLOWS?! YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE! THANK YOU THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!**

**Harold: Is she...alright...?**

**Harrison: She's frothing at the mouth a little. I don't think that's healthy.**

**Harold: What...should we...do?**

**Harrison: As the old saying goes, the show must go on.**

**Harold: Okay...**

"Normal Speech"

"**Mind Space**"

**Harrison: Oni does not own Harry Potter nor the original question that sparked the idea for this story.**

**Oni: *twitching on the floor***

**Harold: ...Onwards...?**

* * *

Harrison was always partial to nighttime. Everything was always so quiet, so tranquil, so calm. At night, everyone was asleep, and those who were awake were too afraid to wander through a large castle in the dark. Obviously Harrison, being a spirit, had no qualms with exploring his new dwelling in the dark of the night. In fact, he loved it. While he adored Harold and his new friends to no end, Harrison also enjoyed his alone time, his time to think, which was what he was doing as he explored the empty halls.

Already he had memorized the path to the Great Hall, to most of the Professors' offices, and around eight bathrooms scattered around the castle. He had peeked inside classrooms to see which ones were used, and had deducted the ones he would probably be sitting in for the year. The classroom that had the same odd smell as Professor Quirrell must be the Defense Classroom, while the one that was decked in blue and was shaped like an auditorium must be the Charms classroom, and the classroom near the Astronomy tower was, well, the Astronomy classroom.

Harrison paused in his exploration when he heard noises coming from behind a broom closet. Instantly Peeves came up in his mind as the culprit, and the ghost gave a vicious smile at the thought of giving the dratted poltergeist a taste of what he deserved. Making sure he was still invisible, Harrison stick his head inside the broom closet, ready to jumpscare Peeves.

Instant karma happened when he was faced with not a plotting Peeves but with two older students who were all over each other and were rapidly taking their clothes off. Quickly the ghost jerked his head out of the closet and, if he were visible, sported a bright red face. He put his hands to cover his face in embarrassment, and vowed never to look inside broom closets before finding a system to weed out eloping hormonal teenagers.

Making his way around a corner, Harrison found himself flying down into a darkened area of the school. By the way the air was damper and the echoing winds blew through the corridor, he deducted that he had finally found the Dungeons. Water dripped from a leaky pipe and Harrison's eye twitched at the sound. He understood the need for the place to be somewhat foreboding, but honestly, at least keep it relatively clean! Phasing through two large double doors, the ghost found himself in a cleaner room with stone walls covered in shelves and drawers. In glass jars were the most interesting of objects, some dry, some suspended in either some sort of gel or liquid. Judging by the fact that the desks were free of any dust (to Harrison's immense joy), this must have been the Potions classroom, the class taught by Severus Snape.

He wasn't going to lie, Harrison had high hopes for Professor Snape, drummed in by his mother who had ranted that the man was a Potions Master. Still, it was also obvious that Severus held a bit of a grudge, most likely against his father. Earning the Potion's Professor's respect and trust may take some work, but a fellow intellect was always worth the effort.

Seeing nothing else to explore in the room, the green eyed ghost floated through one of the side walls. Passing hidden corridors that he filed away for exploration later, Harrison entered what looked to be an office. It was rather neat, and impeccably well kept. The furniture was all dark wood tones, and shelves were covered in books and potions ingredients. This had to be Professor Snape's office, though the man himself had probably retired into his sleeping quarters. Shrugging to himself, he floated through another wall and was about to head back up when Harrison heard shuffling noises coming from the other side of the door that was present.

Curious, he floated in, and saw an interesting sight.

* * *

Severus Tobias Snape was once again unable to sleep. Every time he tried to close his eyes, his mind wandered to a woman with fiery red hair and brilliant emerald eyes, and the boy that was undoubtedly her son. Harry Potter had the messy black hair and the facial features that reminded Severus of his childhood enemy, and yet when he stared into those eyes...Lily stared right back at him. However, those bespectacled eyes held a cunning that neither of his parents had possessed, and the Potions Master couldn't help but think about what he would have done had the boy been Sorted into Slytherin. Alas, the child was in the House of his parents, and Severus held a rather large bias against them. Yet his mind once again wandered, causing them to imagine the child decked in emerald robes. Emerald like Lily's eyes.

Why did he have to have her eyes? Keeping up a hateful relationship with the boy was supposed to be simple. After all, he couldn't give himself away as a spy, or that he was going to be protecting the boy. Severus could picture Potter staring at him in hatred, loathing, anger, with those eyes. Would he crumble under that gaze like he always did with Lily?

Dumbledore assured Snape that Potter lived in a nice house with a loving family away from prying eyes, and he shuddered at what the child might be like in class. After all, the only information he had on the boy was what Albus had told him, and the glimpse at the Sorting Feast. Currently, Harry Potter was an enigma, and those eyes...

Groaning to himself, Severus sat up from his bed, knowing full well he would not be falling asleep for another few hours. Putting on his robe, the Potions Master stalked out of his bedroom and into the living area of his room and board in Hogwarts. He took out a large photograph album, worn down with obvious signs of having been through years of use, and carefully cracked it open. In the album were photographs of a young red haired girl and a somber looking raven haired boy of the same age. Flipping the pages, Severus found a picture of his childhood friend as a teenager, her wavy hair pulled back into a ponytail. With long, bony fingers he took the photograph out of its page, and sat down on a black armchair, sighing to himself.

"Oh Lily, what am I going to do?"

As if in an answer, the temperature in the room dropped a fraction, the change so small that if it weren't for years of instincts honed from his childhood, his school life, his Death Eater days, his past experiences as a spy, he wouldn't have noticed it at all. A chill ran down his spine and Severus stalled in his brooding. It was unmistakable, however, as the Potions Master indeed felt the loss of a Celsius degree seep into his skin. This did not usually bode well, as a slight drop in temperature usually meant one thing in this castle.

A ghost had entered the room.

* * *

"Baron."

That was what Snape had drawled out moments after the ghost floated into what he now assumed was the Professor's living quarters. Harrison blinked, confused. The man must have mistaken him for the Bloody Baron. How had he known _that_ quickly that a ghost was in the room? Was he sensitive to paranormal activity? Was he just perceptive of the temperature? Silence stretched between them as Harrison contemplated on what to do.

"Not the Baron? I know you're there, ghost. Are you Peeves? If so, I _will_ be informing the Bloody Baron of this."

Peeves? That idiotic poltergeist was nothing like him! He wanted to huff and explain the difference between a ghost like him and a bloody poltergeist, but realized that it would have been a bad idea. Therefore Harrison stayed silent, and he saw a flicker of fear cross the black abyss that were the eyes of Severus Snape.

"Most ghosts don't dare come down here..." Harrison heard the professor mutter under his breath, before raising his voice, "Who are you, spirit, and what is it that you want at this time of the night? Rest assured that if I find out this is an elaborate prank, there will be _severe _consequences."

Once again the ghost was at a loss of words, and merely floated where he had entered before he realized the Potions Master was holding something in his hands. Curious, Harrison glided further into the room, stopping just behind the black-clad wizard, above the right shoulder, and peered at the object the professor was holding in his hands. When he finally got a good look, his invisible eyebrows shot up. The man was holding in his hands a photograph of Lily, his mother, who was smiling brilliantly as her teenage self. Harrison absentmindedly noted that the picture was unmoving, signaling that it was taken by a muggle camera. A smile broke out on his face. Severus still missed his old friend then, how touching. Hopefully this made things easier for Harrison to earn hook-nosed man's trust.

His head unfortunately brushed up against Snape's shoulder as he looked at the picture, causing the dark haired man to shudder, stand up abruptly, and spin around to face the empty space that the ghost occupied. Of course, the professor couldn't _see_ Harrison, but it was evident that he was _aware_ with absolute certainty that the ghost was there. Fear was evident, though hidden behind anger, in his obsidian eyes as he sneered at the area Harrison was floating in.

"Show yourself!" he snarled.

Harrison floated back, deciding that it was best not to anger the man any further with his presence, and moved toward the bookshelves, near the iron bolted door. Perhaps another time, the ghost thought, would be better to confront the slightly irate professor, when he was ready to tell the truth about himself, about Harold, about Harry Potter's death, and most importantly, about Lily's forgiveness.

But would there ever be a right time?

He saw Snape's shoulders relax as he left drew farther away, but his expression was still sharp and angry. Harrison shook his head. Yes, he thought as he only phased through the doorway, another time.

It was only the first night, he had plenty of time to explore the castle and watch its inhabitants, plenty of time to find out what made Severus Tobias Snape tick. Harrison had been exploring for hours, it was probably almost dawn, and therefore would be in his best interests to find his way back to the Gryffindor Tower post haste.

Harrison hummed a little tuned as he floated away, phasing through walls and ceilings, back to his counterpart. He wondered what classed would be like the next morning, what laid in store for them for the next four years, and contemplated on the mysterious words of the Sorting Hat.

Because the small ghost's mind had darted to other things as he turned away, he completely missed the look of shock and horror on Snape's face right before Harrison had completely phased through the door.

* * *

There was indeed a ghost in the room, and the chill that ran down Severus's spine when the spirit touched his shoulder proved that. Why the ghost was being quiet was beyond him, as only the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron apparently knew the meaning to the phrase (and the variations of, usually with more profanity) 'shut up'. Slowly he felt the presence drift away, and he let his shoulders lax. So it was leaving now, but why on Earth had it come down here in the first place? It couldn't have gotten lost, as all the Hogwarts Ghosts knew the castle like the back of their silvery, translucent hands (which is why only the Bloody Baron dared to go near Snape's quarters).

Irritated yet relieved, Severus glared once more at the ghost that was (hopefully) leaving, and turned toward the door that led to his bedroom. It was iron bolted, like most of the doors in the castle, but important aspect of the door was that it was directly opposite to the door that lead outside to the corridor for the dungeons, and the _most important_ aspect of the door was that it held a very large mirror, framed by black metal bent in a vine-like design. Which is what brought Severus to see a sight that chilled him more than any ghost's touch, any winter's night, any freezing curse that the darkest of wizards could ever invent.

Because in the reflection of that mirror, retreating out of sight, were a pair of glowing Emerald eyes.

Lily's eyes.

* * *

On the dawn of September 2nd, the light from the sun filtered on through the windows of Hogwarts, rousing Neville Longbottom from his slumber. Yawning, the round faced wizard sat up sleepily and viewed his surroundings. Taking in the sight of the four beds decorated in rich scarlet and bold gold, Neville felt a smile creep onto his face. He was really here, in Gryffindor, in _Hogwarts_. Uncle Algie was wrong, he wasn't a squib, and for the first time, Neville had _friends_. Harold (and a Harrison?), Ron, Hermione, even Slytherin purebloods that wouldn't look twice at Gryffindors, like Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle, all of them were his friends, and not because they pitied him or feared his Gran. He had _real_ friends.

Speaking of friends...

Neville scanned his dorm mates, noting the two boys he had met at the Feast, Dean Thomas (a tall dark skinned boy that was a muggleborn, really into a muggle game called 'football') and Seamus Finnegan (a sandy haired half-blood who a had a sparky personality) were still sleeping in their individual beds, light snores coming from behind their curtains. Turning his head, he gave a little laugh at Ron, whose curtains were wide open, as the tall freckled ginger's limbs were sprawled in random directions, a small puddle of drool forming in his pillow. The boy was snoring up a storm, and his pet rat (Scabs or something) was curled up on the other end of the pillow, fast asleep. Neville's eyes then landed on the final boy in his dorm, and his first real friend, Harold (and Harrison? This is getting a little confusing...).

No sound came from the bed, the curtains shut tight. Compared with the other bunks, Harold's was deathly silent. Curious, Neville stretched, and stood up from his bed, making his way to the raven haired boy's bed. Still no sound, no snores at all. In fact, he couldn't even hear the Gryffindor breathing. Carefully Neville drew apart the curtains, ready to wake his friend up.

Except he found nothing, the bed looked like his own had the night before, precisely made and the blankets folded perfectly, as if Harold had not slept in it at all. How curious, where was he? The last time he saw Harold, the bloke was practically a walking Inferi! He looked around the bunk, Harold's uniform was sitting on top of his trunk, so he hadn't gotten dressed. Neville would have assumed sleepwalking but the bed would have had to have been slept in, and it clearly wasn't. To say Neville was perplexed was a bit of an understatement.

Then something shifted from below the bed, which made the round faced boy jump almost a foot in the air. The sound of the shuffling of clothes against carpet became a little louder, and Neville stared at the bunk in horror, because the noise was coming from underneath the bed. Slowly, the boy lowered himself down onto all fours, his head pressed against the scarlet carpet. It was too dark to see very well, as the morning was still rather young, but Neville could make out the outline of a person under the bed. However, something was very wrong.

The way the figure was laying down reminded the Gryffindor of a corpse lying upwards, arms crossed over a chest which neither rose nor fell in the telltale signal of breathing. Furthermore, the figure was too small, the size and shape in the dark made it look more like a five year old then an eleven year old, and Harold had been an inch taller than Neville himself.

_Scritch, scratch._

Neville's eyes widened as the figure scratched the bottom of the bed, nails (no... that sounded almost like...bone...) making a horrid scratching noise. Frightened, he backed away, trying to process what he was witnessing. The scratching became more frenzied, before it abruptly stopped. Now shaking, Neville cautiously creeped back down to the ground where the figure lay under the bed, and came to an even more frightening sight. The figure had turned to face him, and Neville was able to catch sight of what was undeniably a festered skull, with some bits of skin still clinging onto the stark white bone. Both eye sockets were empty, dark and void, except for two small pinpricks of green fire burning from within. Without any eyelids, the figure simply stared into Neville's eyes, causing a chill to run down his spine. He watched in horror as the bone jaws of the skull opened, drawing attention to the sharp points that were the thing's teeth.

With a small whimper, the Gryffindor abruptly stood up and rushed back to his bed drawing in the curtains in fright. This had to be a bad dream. Yeah, a _really_ bad dream. Neville curled back up into bed, hoping the action might wake him up from the nightmare.

This is why a few minutes later, he was awoken by a loud yawn, courtesy of Ron. Wide eyed and remembering the thing under Harold's bed, Neville bolted out of bed to warn his new friend.

"Ron!" he whispered loudly, "D-don't go near Harold's bed!"

"Wha-why?" asked a sleepy Ron, who dragged himself off of his bunk with about as much grace as a troll drunk on Firewhiskey.

"There's s-something under the bed!"

Ron made a face between confused and incredulous, but cast his gaze over to Harold and Harrison's bed, to find it empty and unslept in. Before he could comment, however, a low groan came from under the bed. Neville started shaking, and Ron's eyes bugged out as he took a couple of steps away from the bed. The sound of clothing moving along carpet suggested that the thing under the bed had started to crawl. Both frightened Gryffindors held their breath as they waited for some hellish horror to crawl out...

Harold, with his hair mussed beyond belief climbed out from under the bed in his pajamas, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and letting out a tired yawn.

* * *

Harrison found Harold where he left the corpse counterpart, under the bed, having some form of nightmare. He was scratching the bottom of the bed like some helpless animal. At the time, all his dorm-mates seemed to be sleeping, so he floated through the bed and into Harold's body, their magic merging once more to produce the guise of a living, breathing, eleven year old Harry Potter. Inside their shared mindspace, Harrison began to soothe his crying 'brother'.

"**Harold, it's alright! It was just a bad dream.**"

"**Mummy...**" Harold moaned sadly, "**Bad man...hurt mummy... Green...light... Mummy...got hurt...**"

"**Mummy was hurt a long time ago and she's alright now, remember? And the bad man is gone and he can't hurt any of us anymore.**" Harrison cooed.

Groaning outwardly, the ghost managed to drag the vessel from underneath the bed, rubbing his eyes to focus. When he looked up, he saw Neville and Ron staring at him in fear and confusion. They must be perplexed as to why 'Harry' didn't sleep _on_ the bed like a normal person. Quickly the ghost pulled themselves up to their feet, grabbing their round spectacles and their uniform. He gave his two dumbfounded friends an apologetic smile before rushing to wash up.

It wouldn't do to be late on the first day, now would it?

Soon enough Neville and Ron followed after, and eventually the three of them (Harold was still shaken up from his nightmare) started to discuss their expectations for the upcoming classes as they got ready for the day. Ron was adamant that Potions was going to be terrible, as his brothers had all feared Professor Snape. The red headed boy was in the middle of exaggerating the behavior he dubbed 'the dungeon bat', and Neville and Harold (surprisingly) chuckled along. That was, until Harrison caught sight of something reflected in the mirror.

"If you would excuse me, I have to...check something. Wait for me in the Common Room?"

The two living boys nodded, scuttling out of the washroom, leaving Harrison and Harold alone. Harrison locked the door and proceeded to take off the uniform.

"**What...are you...doing?**"

"**Take a look at this.**"

Their body was stripped of clothing, and Harold saw and understood. There were the scars from _that day_ where Aunt Petunia had slashed them with the kitchen knife, running up and down their torso, their arms and their legs. A giant mark in the shape of a handprint wrapped around their neck, and both remembered how it only took one of Uncle Vernon's meaty hands to choke them to death. Turning around and using multiple mirrors scattered in the room, the two undead children took in the sight of the final scar their relatives have given them. From one shoulder blade to the other spanned a large set of scars, slightly indented because of how they were carved over and over again to make sure the message stayed, was the word 'FREAK' written in all capital letters.

"**How...?**"

"**Somehow the scars from our death had transferred over from our normal bodies to this disguise. Good thing I wear high collars as a habit or we might have been caught prematurely.**"

Silently they redressed, and headed to where their friends were waiting.

* * *

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair and the round kid with the brown hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

"**It's still rather early to be discussing the affairs of a single new student, don't you think?**"

Whispers followed the undead duo from the moment they left their dormitory. People lined up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at them, or doubled back to pass them in the corridors again, staring. Some even followed them from breakfast, which Harold made rather quick, considering he didn't actually need to eat anything.

Draco, Blaise, Vincent, and Gregory must have still been asleep as they weren't spotted at the green and silver clad table at breakfast, and Harrison and Harold didn't want to stick around the Great Hall because of all the staring eyes. As soon as McGonagall handed them their schedules, Harrison had grabbed Ron and Neville by their wrists and dashed out of the Great Hall. Unfortunately, the students were more obsessed with the 'Boy Who Lived' than either of them had anticipated. Their voices and whispers seemed to follow wherever they went, and the sheer amount of curious students were unnerving even Ron and Neville, who had grown up with knowing who Harry Potter was. It made the task of getting to their classes that much harder.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts (Harrison had meticulously counted them the night before). There were wide, sweeping ones, narrow, rickety ones, some that led somewhere different on a Friday, some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump (most of these were according to the older years, and if it weren't for the fact that Lily and James had told them the same thing, Harold and Harrison wouldn't have believed them). Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harold was sure the coats of armor could walk (this was backed up by Harrison, who recounted watching some of the suits switching places in the dead of the night).

The ghosts, to Harrison's chagrin, were becoming a little irritating. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point the new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Harrison's eye twitched when they ran across the blasted thing, and he was very close to knocking Peeves with a baseball bat.

Soon enough, with Harrison's excellent memory, they managed to reach the Transfiguration classroom with less hassle than some of their more unfortunate classmates. When they got inside, there were very few children in the room, and the desk was occupied by a rather stern looking tabby cat. Hermione was sitting at the front of the class and stood to greet them, a wide smile on her face.

"Good morning, boys!" she chirped.

"Good morning Hermione." Ron and Neville droned, still exhausted from their run-in with the Poltergeist, while Harold simply managed a smile (talking, he decided, was going to be far too tiring).

Before any other greeting could be exchanged, students started to filter into the classroom. Harrison took a seat next to Hermione, while Neville and Ron sat next to each other behind them. Harold looked around the room. Weren't classes supposed to be taught by Professors? If so, where was the one for Transfiguration?

As if to answer, some late Gryffindor girls had loudly commented on the fact that said Professor seemed to not have arrived, even though they were late. Right after they congratulated themselves on beating the teacher, the tabby cat on the desk leapt off the table, transforming into a full grown woman as it did. Standing there in front of the class was the stern faced Professor McGonagall, her lips pressed into a thin line as she started down her glasses to the two tardy students. Said students scuttled to their seats, sheepish and terrified looks on their faces. McGonagall then scanned the room for any more troublemakers before launching into her introductory lecture.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said, "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again with a few waves from her wand. The students were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes from her lecture, they were each given a match and told to turn it into a needle. Harold took his wand from the holster in their right sleeve and waved it in what he hoped was what he needed to do. Unfortunately, his words slurred (his speech impediment was _really_ starting to bite him in the behind) and the match remained unchanged. None of the others were making any progress either, and only Hermione appeared to have had any change in her match, as it was silver and slightly pointed.

Harrison sighed, and took out his own wand from the holster in their left sleeve, trying to focus. They turned the primary teacher's hair blue once, why couldn't they turn a match into a needle? He closed his eyes. _Needle, needle, needle_. Harrison waved his wand and spoke the incantation, feeling the flow of magic from within him flowing through his wand and into the match. When he opened his eyes, he was met with a metal needle (it wasn't as sharp as it could have been, and it was missing the eye, but it was metal and shaped like a needle). Carefully he tucked his wand back, and the Professor was none the wiser.

At the end of the class, it was only Hermione and Harrison who were able to get any progress, and McGonagall showed them to the rest of the class and awarded House points for Gryffindor, giving the two a rare smile.

* * *

The first week passed almost like a breeze. Every Wednesday night they had to study the night skies through their telescopes and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Again, only Harrison and Hermione had any idea what Professor Sinestra was saying, prompting a rather long driven rant by the two child brainiacs.

Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy, sweet little witch called Professor Sprout (who was apparently the Head of Hufflepuff), where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for. Neville and Harold were in their element, loving the feeling of the magical plants, of getting down on the ground and working the earth, feeling the fresh dirt. The Hufflepuffs they were with seemed to share the same sentiment, and everyone appeared to have accepted Harold's slow form of slurring speech.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and most got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. This prompted an internal rant curtesy of Harrison, who screeched about incompetent teachers and how the man was just reading the textbook word by word. The fact that the man was a ghost wasn't lost on the little spirit, and Harrison groaned at the image Binns portrayed.

Charms was interesting, as the two had already met Professor Flitwick. More interesting still, it seemed to be complex enough for Harrison to fully comprehend. This led to a couple more House points in Gryffindor's direction. Hermione at least understood the incantations and wand movements, and Neville and Ron were not far behind.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which the Professor claimed was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie (Harold's eyes widened in fear, prompting Harrison to soothe the poor undead corpse), but they weren't sure they believed that story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie (Harold leaned in, fearful yet intrigued), Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather (to Harold's relief). For another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went. There was still a slight pulling feeling that Harrison felt when he was near the purple turban, but the ghost decided to ignore the strange sensation.

Harrison also continued to explore the castle, finding more shortcuts for them to use during his night wanderings. So far, he had not run into any more professors, ghosts, or hormonal couples (though the latter was because he had started avoiding the cupboards). He was still wary of Dumbledore's warning at the Sorting Feast, and decided to stay away from the Charms corridor for the time being.

Finally Friday arrived, something all the students were grateful for.

"What have we got today?" Neville asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," replied Ron, who piled more bacon onto his plate, "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them. We'll be able to see if it's true."

"True, isn't he Draco's godfather though?" added Harrison, "That's what he told us during Defense, at least. I'm inclined to believe him."

"Hopefully that means he'll lay off of us." Neville groaned.

After breakfast they met up with Draco, Blaise, Gregory and Vincent. Silently they formed a small group as the first years headed down to the dungeons. Harrison remembered his first night wandering, and was curious on what the Potions Professor's behavior toward him and Harold would be like.

After all, the man was an enigma to the small boy, so it was natural for there to be at least a slight hint of nervousness within the two undead boys as the group reached the double doors to the Potions Classroom.

* * *

**AN:**

**Harrison: That seems to be the end of this chapter.**

**Oni: *still on the ground frothing***

**Harold: Uh...**

**Harrison: Guess it's up to us, Harold. **

**Harold: Uhm...thanks...for...reading...**

**Harrison: And thank you for Following, Favoriting, and Reviewing!**

**Harold: We love...to... hear...what you... think...**

**Harrison: Also, we had a few close calls in this chapter, so I give you lovelies something to ponder. Who should be the first to find out our little secret? How? When?**

**Harold: Tell...us...in the...Reviews...**

**Harrison: And keep us as first priority!**

**Harold: We'll...see...you...next time...**

**Harrison: My lovelies!**

**Harold: That's...not...how it...goes...**

**Harrison: I know, Harold, I know.**


	9. Nice Catch

_**Grim Grinning Ghosts Chapter 8 - Nice Catch**_

**AN:**

**Oni: Another chapter is at hand!**

**Harrsion: We're not dead! Oh, well, we ARE dead but this fanfiction certainly is not!**

**Harold: So...more..story?**

**Oni: Yep! Even though writing five stories at once whilst juggling college gets tiring, I have done another update that I hope you guys enjoy!**

**Isaac: Also for a bit of shameless self promotion, Oni is writing an original story on Wattpad called The Adventures of Brave Heriocs, which is supposed to kinda mock medieval Chosen Ones stories. If you like bloodthirsty twelve and thirteen year olds, memes, subtly breaking the fourth wall, and general insanity, go check it out!**

**Oni: Isaac, how did you get here?!**

**Isaac: I have my waaaays~**

**Oni: *shrugs* Oh well. But seriously guys, if you're interested, please go check it out! I already have seven chapters on it and I'm writing the eighth!**

**Harrison: And now for this story-**

"Normal"

"**Mindspace**"

**Harold: Oni...does not...own...Harry Potter...or the...original...idea spark...**

**Isaac: AAAAAAND ONWARDS!**

**Oni: ISAAC! THAT'S MY LINE!**

* * *

One thing was very sure about lessons with Snape.

He was very dramatic.

All the students, Gryffindor and Slytherin, were sitting quietly in their seats (everyone, including the first year Slytherins, were far too afraid to talk) when the back doors of the classroom opened with a bang and Professor Snape swooped in like a hawk catching its prey. Silently he practically glided with his billowing black cloak to the teacher's desk, holding up the roll call. With a voice like a whisper he called out each student, whom in turn replied with a fearful 'present'. When he reached Harrison and Harold's living name, he paused.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter, our new... celebrity."

"**So he isn't going to be easy, never fear, I like a challenge.**"

"**Oh...no...**"

Professor Snape stared into their eyes, his black ones seemingly showing nothing. But somehow Harrison felt a tug, not as strong and slightly muted like the feeling with the purple turban, as he stared into the man's obsidian eyes. Like the Sorting Feast, he did not back down, and when he felt a strange energy trying to reach their mindspace, the ghost pushed it away.

Harrison cast a sidelong glance at Draco, who shrugged and gave him an apologetic half-smile. This was not lost on the Potions Professor, as he began to call out names without looking at them any further. Putting down the roll, Snape clasped his hands behind his back. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word. Like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began, "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death... if you aren't

as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

"**Oh my, mother was right, he **_**does**_** have a dramatic flair!**"

"**Ruined...it...with...the last...comment...**"

Harrison had to suppress the laugh that threatened to bubble over, and schooled his expression when Snape abruptly spun around to address them.

"Potter!" shouted Snape suddenly, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"**Asphodel...and...Wormwood... Hm...**"

"The Draught of Living Death, Professor." Harrison said aloud.

Snape's eyebrows shot up. Clearly he wasn't expecting 'Harry Potter' to know anything about Potions.

"**Asphodel...Wormwood...**"

"Very well," he continued, "where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"**A bezoar? The cure for most poisons?**"

"**Bitter...sorrow...regret...lily...?**"

"The stomach of a goat, Sir." he replied again, and again Snape raised his eyebrow.

"**Bitterly...regrets...Lily's...death...**"

"**What? Harold, what are you saying?**"

"**Using...flower speak...to talk... Bitterly...regrets...Lily's death.**"

"One last question, Mr. Potter, what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

"**I don't know this one, oh dear...**"

"Same...plant..." Harold said aloud, and some students snapped to attention at the sudden personality change, "also...called...Aconite..."

"**Three names of the same plant and a cure found in the stomach of a goat, are those symbolic as well? Three identities? Three sides? Triple agent? Who would be the 'cure'?**"

Snape seemed to have moved on, however, and cast Harold a wary glance.

"Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. As they all scratched what they could down, Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. Harrison stuck with Neville, trying to help the poor boy through his racking nerves as they prepared the ingredients. The professor swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, his eyes darting everywhere as if trying to find a single mistake. Fortunately for the Gryffindors, Harrison and Hermione prevented any major disasters from happening to Neville and Ron. So even when Snape gave Draco points for 'perfect coloring', he also didn't deduct many points from Gryffindor, at least not against Harrison and crew (he did deduce a total of ten points from Gryffindor because Lavender Brown had added four porcupine quills instead of three and subsequently blew up a cauldron in her face, garnering her a trip to the Hospital Wing).

While they worked, Harrison and Harold were constantly aware of the eyes that followed them. Professor Snape would turn away when they looked, or barked at them to get back to work, but it was obvious that the man was staring at them throughout the lesson. Harrison smirked in his mindspace, he _will_ get to the bottom of Severus Snape!

...Just not this lesson, as the period ended rather soon and the students were all let out for lunch. Ron and Neville breathed out sighs of relief and the Slytherin half of the group just rolled their eyes. As they were filing out of the classroom, Harrison caught Snape opening his mouth to say something to him, but the man seemed to change his mind. Curious fellow, he was, Harrison thought to himself as the group made their way to the Great Hall, sitting at the Gryffindor table, waving farewell to his Slytherin friends before being bombarded by not-so-quiet whispers about Harry Potter once again.

"Why are so many talking about someone they don't really know?" Harrison asked aloud in between spoonfuls of soup, garnering confused looks from his friends.

"What do you mean 'don't really know'? You're one of the most famous people in Magical Britain!" Ron exclaimed through bites of sarnie, which he was shoving into his mouth at an alarming rate.

"Really now," Harrison replied drily, "I hadn't noticed. But in all honesty, I highly doubt you know anything about me."

"Everyone knows everything about you, mate, that's how celebrities work." pitched in Seamus Finnigan.

"Tell me then about my life, if you will." Harrison challenged, looking around at his friends.

"Well, you were born to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter via your father James Charlus Potter, and the last descendant of that line. Your mother was a muggleborn that attended the same year as your father and they got married straight out of Hogwarts. When You Know Who became stronger, your parents went into hiding. They were under a Fidelius Charm that was broken when Sirius Black betrayed your parents and You a Know Who was able to enter your home. When You Know Who tried to kill you, the curse bounced back and hit him instead, making you the Boy Who Lived." Neville offered.

"While your knowledge of my infant and pre-birth background is rather large, I highly doubt one could consider that everything about me."

"Yeah," Ron answered, "but we also know now that you and Harold are different people in me body, that's got to count for something."

"Something, yes, but not everything."

"What about when you defeated the dragon in Norway?" piped up a Hufflepuff first year girl (Susan Bones, if Harrison's memory served him right).

"Excuse me?!" Harrison sputtered.

"Yeah, they say you defeated a Norwegian Ridgeback in Norway in Harry Potter's Adventure Around The World!" the girl exclaimed, getting nods from most of the students.

"**Where are they getting these books? **_**Why**_** are they getting these books?**"

"**Sounds...bad...using our...names...like that...**"

"**Very true, I must get some sort of lawyer for this!**"

"Well," Harrison said cautiously, "I can assure you I've never heard of these stories until now, and I can also affirm without a doubt that I have never left England until yesterday when I boarded the train for Hogwarts."

A collective gasp resounded in the Great Hall.

"You mean those books weren't telling about your life? It was all fiction?" asked an older Hufflepuff.

"That's not the problem," said Susan Bones with wide eyes, "Someone's been using Potter's name for their own gain without Potter's knowledge or permission. My Auntie Amelia told me that's illegal!"

"That it is." Harrison replied with a sigh, "We will have to look into this..."

"I'll get a hold of my Auntie, she'll want to hear about this." Susan Bones said decidedly.

"If you think it will help, then fine by me. If you don't mind, however, I would like to finish my lunch in peace." Harrison commented tiredly, before turning around and letting Harold continue the meal.

It was at this time that Hedwig decided to swoop into the Great Hall with a copy of the Daily Prophet in her talons. She skillfully dropped her burden just so that it landed exactly on Harrison's lap, and gracefully perched on his shoulder. Harrison unrolled the Prophet and raised his eyebrows at the headlines.

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

"**How curious, the break-in happened on our birthday, we were at the Alley during that time.**"

"**Maybe...we saw...the...thief...and...didn't...notice?**"

"**That could very well be the case, but I don't remember any particularly shady characters. **"

"**I...have...a...bad...feeling...about...this...**"

"**Oh dear, that's not good.**"

* * *

Harrison and Harold were only able to see Draco and Co. in class once, and that was in Potions. Obviously the animosity between the two Houses played a large part, but this year's first years did not participate as much in the 'kill the enemy' as the others. In fact, the friendliness between the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins were a sight to behold, sitting together during break and sometimes going to each other's tables at mealtimes. This had originally caused some complaints, but when no harsh insults came from the visiting House members, the grumbling lessened until none of the students cared anymore.

This sporadic class contact changed when the two undead boys spotted a notice in the Common Room. The schedules for their first Flying Lesson had been posted, and Gryffindor was paired up with Slytherin for that Thursday.

All through breakfast on that fateful day the two Quiddich nuts refused to cease their excited jabbering about what tricks they were going to pull upon their brooms.

Obviously this kind of talk did nothing to ease the fears of Neville, Hermione, and Harrison. In fact, the way they were going about all the dangerous stunts they were going to attempt to pull, none of them wanted to go near a broom. Crabbe and Goyle didn't really care about flying, and while Blaise was a decent flyer, he wasn't on the same level as the Malfoy-Weasley duo. Harold was as excited as an animated corpse could get, and mentally bounced up and down at the fact that he was getting the chance to do something similar to Harrison's floating.

This only made Harrison go into a state of panic.

A barn owl flying up to Neville broke the poor ghost from his pre-lesson panic, and leaned over to see the package the boy had gotten. Neville opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained, "Gran knows I forget things... this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red... oh..." his face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "I've forgotten something..."

"Your...cloak...?" Harold pointed out helpfully.

Neville's eyes widened and dashed out of the Great Hall. Blaise raised his eyebrow at the supposed living child.

"Nice catch, Potter."

"Thanks..." was what Harold replied with a lopsided smile.

Neville sprinted back into the Great Hall, his cloak now fashioned around his shoulders. Tentatively he picked up the Remembrall again, and lo and behold, nothing happened. He smiled widely at his friend.

"Thanks for that, Harold!"

He, too, was given a lopsided smile.

Later that afternoon, the mixed group of both Gryffindor and Slytherin hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The rest of the Gryffindors and Slytherins were also making their way towards their goal, some already waiting. On the pitch where they were to have their lesson were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harrison had overheard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

This did not help his nerves in the slightest.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked, "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harrison glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. His eye involuntarily twitched and he internally shivered.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted (except for Harrison, who had given Harold full control of the body for once and hastily retreated to the back of their mind).

Harold's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harold to himself. There was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground. Harold shot the boy an encouraging smile.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Draco blanched when she told him that he'd been doing it wrong for years. The platinum blond boy stared at his hand before slapping his palm against his forehead.

"Drat! That's a novice's error!" he exclaimed, causing Ron to laugh.

"Calm down, mate, at least you know _now_!" Ron replied, making Draco snort.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch, "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle... three... two..."

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted at him.

But Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle... twelve feet... twenty feet...forty feet. Harold saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and...

Time slowed down for the undead corpse as he watched his first living human friend dangle from the handle of the floating broom, his grip rapidly slipping. He didn't know if the height would kill him, but he did know that a fall of that height would hurt very badly.

Harold didn't want his friend to get hurt.

Instinctively his grip tightened on the handle and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared. Air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him (and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught... this was easy, this was wonderful). He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, closer to where Neville was, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron and Draco. By the time he got there, however, Neville fingers had slipped from the broom and had started plummeting toward the ground. Harold knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, wind whistling in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching, and shot toward Neville like a javelin.

When Harold reached him, he wrapped his arms around the boy, using himself to cushion his fall. The broom was unable to hold the both of them, and they plummeted the rest of the way. Harold quickly maneuvered his body so that Neville would land on top of him.

They hit the dirt below and Harold heard the crunch of his bones against the ground.

* * *

When Neville's mind cleared from the rush of fear he had whilst dangling perilously from his broom, he realized that he was lying on something relatively soft. Groaning, his arm burning like hell, he rolled off of the thing that broke his fall and onto the cool grass below. The object that broke his fall suddenly started to move, making Neville jerk up.

It was Harold, rolling on the ground. Most of his limbs were at odd angles, and his neck was bent in a way that wasn't natural. His ribcage looked slightly flatter, and he saw a few bones poke out from under his shirt. Neville stared at his friend in horror. This was his fault, if he hadn't kicked off early...

He saw Professor Hooch trying to make her way towards them and tried to scream for help, but Harold grabbed his arm. Neville turned to his friend, frightened, because by the angle of Harold's head, he should not be alive. Defying everything Neville had ever known about life and death, the broken boy gave him one of his signature lopsided smiles. That was when he noticed his eyes, those empty looking eyes that were only void with two emerald embers.

The monster under the bed had not been a nightmare.

_Snap._

Harold had jerked his arms into place.

_Crack_.

The head was realigned with the neck.

_Snap. Crack_.

His ribcage snapped into place, and his legs cracked back to their natural positions.

Neville stared at his friend in shock, horror, and awe. Harold's eyes had slowly returned to normal, but the image of those burning, voidlike eyes were still at the front of Neville's mind. As if oblivious to Neville's sudden fear of him, Harold walked (more like shambled, really) up to him and dusted the boy off.

"You...okay...?" he asked Neville with worry written all over his face.

Neville, not trusting his voice, nodded. Harold gave him a brilliant, relieved smile, before looking down at the ground and frowning. Leaning down, he picked up the remains of his round spectacles, broken beyond repair.

"Our...glasses..." he mumbled sadly.

"Forget about the glasses! Harold, what _was_ that?!" Neville whispered almost hysterically.

"What...was...what...?" Harold asked, confused, before they were suddenly engulfed by a hysterical Madame Hooch.

Her face was as white as Neville's as she checked him over.

"Broken arm," she muttered to herself, "and from a fall like that... MR. POTTER!" she screamed, frightened, and spun around to check over Harold, her face devoid of color.

When she finished checking the green eyed boy over, she stood up and blinked slowly, as if not believing what she was seeing.

"...No injuries at all. Do you feel any pain, boy?" Harold shook his head, still holding his confused expression.

Madame Hooch simply stared at him.

"How is this possible? A fall like that... it could have killed you!" Harold just shrugged.

The Flying Professor just shook her head numbly, stunned, before grabbing hold of Neville (who, in hindsight, probably looked as if he had seen a ghost) and Harold, dragging back to where the other gobsmacked children were.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

She told the class, before turning to Neville on the last sentence. Then she turned to Harold.

"I don't know how you two got out of this with only a broken arm on Mr. Longbottom's side, but what I had just witnessed was nothing less than a miracle. I won't sugar-coat this Mr Potter, but from a fall that high, with you catching Mr. Longbottom, you should have died."

A gasp elicited from both the Gryffindors and the Slytherins as Madame Hooch guided a shocked Neville into the castle. Neville, who was slowly gaining his wits, heard Blaise say something to Harold just before the double doors closed behind him.

"Once again Potter, nice catch."

* * *

The mindspace was in absolute pandemonium as Harrison screeched like a banshee, his voice bouncing off the proverbial walls.

"**I cannot **_**believe**_** you would pull a stunt like that Harold! Neville most definitely saw what you really were, and know he's going to ask **_**questions!**_"

"**But...he...would have...been hurt...if I...didn't...help...**"

"**You could have Levitated him or used **_**Arresto Momentum**_**! Oh goodness, now we are most certainly in for a questioning and I will have no excuse to give him and then we will be found out within a **_**month**_** of coming to Hogwarts and who knows what the adults will do to us and if our friends will even want to stay with us after finding out what we really are I mean did you **_**see**_** the expression Neville had when you reformed it almost was as if he had seen some sort of demonic spirit come out of the depths of hell so he would most likely come to the conclusion that we are in fact some sort of hellish creature from someone's darkest fears and will tell the others what he thinks we are or **_**worse**_** he could try to get Dumbledore himself to exorcise us and then we would just disappear and-**"

This went on for quite a while, so Harold tuned out his ghost counterpart's nervous breakdown in favor of resting against the castle wall, tuckered out from using so much energy in one go. Usually this didn't happen, but he panicked when he saw Neville slip from the broom and used more energy than he intended. He was, after all, the hands-on type of person, focusing on getting the job done instead of calculating what needed to be done. _That_ was Harrison's job, even though currently the ghost sat in the back of his mind rocking back and forth, his hysterical screaming tapering down to a continuous mumble of what he thought could be wrong.

But there was something Harrison said that bothered him. He didn't think he had seen the spell arresto whatever in their books, so how had he known it? Harrison was always really smart, but now it was like he knew things that he didn't even learn yet. And what the Hat had said wasn't making any sense either. Harold and Harrison have always been together, even before they split. He remembered the smart part of him always quietly grumbling about the Dursleys. After they split Harrision became, well, Harrison. Harold always thought the the ghost was far nicer than when they shared mind, body, and soul. To say that Harrison was some sort of stranger was almost ridiculous, but now with the way the ghost knew things that Harold knew wasn't in their books, it didn't seem so far-fetched.

This was troubling for the little zombie.

Another troubling thought was Neville's face after Harold had reformed himself. He wasn't dangerous. The only people Harold ever hurt were his food, and his food were always bad people. Neville wasn't a bad person, and neither were any of his friends, so why was he worried? He wasn't scary... Harrison liked him, Avos liked him, and the only other people who saw him as he was were his food, bad people, not friends. Why was Neville so scared of him? Does he want to stop being Harold's friend?

"HARRY POTTER!"

A screeching voice broke both ghost and zombie out of their own reveries, and they turned to see who had called them. Professor McGonagall was running toward them with a shocked look on her face.

"Never... in all my time at Hogwarts..." she looked him over, "I thought Hooch was pulling my leg when she said you caught Longbottom from forty feet in the air and landed with nary a scratch, but I see now that she was telling the truth."

Harold blinked in confusion. Where was she going with this? Was this not normal?

"Potter, follow me, now."

With that, Harold was led into the castle by McGonagall, still rather confused about what she was going to do. He passed Madame Hooch, who was making her way back to the class, and smiled at her, but continued to follow the fast-footed professor. Professor McGonagall was simply sweeping along without even looking at him, and so he had to jog to keep up. Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harold trotting bewilderedly behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore?

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

"**Wood? Is Wood a special staff that she'll use on us to reveal who we are? Are we going to be exorcised right here?**" Harrison asked, a nervous wreck, rocking back and forth.

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth year boy who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harold.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard. The presence of the poltergeist seemed to snap Harrision out of his nervous breakdown. Harrison instead used the body to give Peeves a rather nasty glare.

"Out, Peeves!" she barked.

Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood... I've found you a Seeker." Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?" She nodded and motioned to Harold.

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

Harold nodded silently.

"Nevermind catching a Snitch, the boy caught another student from a forty foot drop with only a minor injury on the other boy's part. Not a scratch on him. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained to the still-confused Harold.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him, "Light, speedy, we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor, a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"**He...talks...like you...**" Harold mumbled jokingly.

"**True, were I a Quidditch fanatic.**" Harrison replied with a smile, the nervousness leaving the ghost.

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..." Professor McGonagall said before she peered sternly over her glasses at Harry, "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Then she suddenly smiled.

"Your father would have been proud," she said, "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

And then McGonagall swept out of the room, leaving Harold and Harrison with an overly excited Wood.

"What...just...happened...?" Harold asked aloud.

"What happened was that _you_, Potter, are going to be the new Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team! Hm... I know you could catch a person, but what about..."

From the corner of his eye, Harold caught the movement of something rather shiny. Out of reflex of catching shiny things that he liked around the Mausoleum, the zombie reached out and grabbed the object with a speed that was inhuman. He inspected the object. It was an oddly designed golden ball with fluttering white wings.

"A...wow..." Oliver Wood stared at Harold in awe, "I've never seen anyone move their arms that fast..."

His face broke into a mad grin.

"Ohohoho... We are _definitely _going to win the Cup this year! Woohoo!"

And with that, Wood rushed out of the room, whooping in joy, leaving the two undead boys to ponder on the day's incidents so far. Harold pocketed the strange ball (which Harrison identified as a Snitch), deciding that he liked this particular shiny thing, and they left the room, smiling together.

Perhaps their secret will stay secret for a nice long time.

* * *

**AN:**

**Oni: That's all for now, folks!**

**Harold: Don't...forget to...Follow...Favorite...and...Review...**

**Isaac: And check out the Adventures of Brave Heroics at Wattpad dot com!**

**Harrison: And we shall see you next time, my pretties!**

**Oni: Harrsion, not you too!**


	10. Contemplation, Explanation, Revelation,

_**Grim Grinning Ghosts Chapter 9 - Contemplation, Explanation, Revelation, Investigation**_

**AN:**

**Oni: WOWEE it's been a while.**

**Harrison: Oni you haven't updated any of your stories in months. I feared you were going back to your old ways. **

**Oni: I'm not...but while I was gone...HSJHCSHBJSXGJYXSGHJSD TWO HUNDRED FOLLOWERS YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL WONDERFUL PEOPLE! *faints***

**Harrison: Oh my, she must have fainted from shock...**

**Isaac: Nope, she just spread herself out too thin. All those dang plot bunnies.**

**Harold: Well...at least...it...updated...now...**

**Lucas: Looking on the bright side of things doesn't get rid of the problem.**

**Isaac: LUCAS! You finally joined the crowd!**

**Lucas: Only to make sure you stay in line. Now, while I'm here, the legend-**

"Normal"

"**Mindspace**"

**Isaac: Oni does not own Harry Potter or the plot bunny that started this story, but the idea to mush those two things together to create this monstrosity was her idea. I'll leave my shameless promotion until the bottom. ENJOY!**

* * *

"You're joking."

It was dinnertime, and Harrison had just finished telling their friends what had happened when they'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it. Draco seemed to have abandoned his soup in favor of gawking at him. Hermione was staring at him up and down, looking at him rather strangely and jotting something down in a small notebook. Blaise was trying not to look interested as he sat with the Griffs, and was failing miserably to anyone who bothered to look close enough. Even Vincent and Gregory were staring at them in awe.

Theodore Nott, the previously unintroduced Slytherin, was sitting at the scarlet table for the first time, accompanying Blaise and was trying to figure out what was so...strange...about the first year Gryffindor with two personalities. Harold was focused on eating, deep in thought.

Neville, unsurprisingly, was still recovering in the Hospital Wing.

"Seeker?" Ron spoke the word almost breathlessly, "But first years never... you must be the-"

"Youngest House player in about a century," Harrison finished for him as Harold continued to feast, shoveling pie into his mouth, "Oliver Wood told us."

All the boys present (except for Blaise and Theo) just sat and gaped at the two disguised undead boys.

"I start training next week," explained Harrison, "Only please don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harrison, and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice, "Wood told us. We're on the team too. Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," continued Fred, "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

They scampered off, cackling to themselves. When they left, Draco let out a sigh.

"Guess Slytherin might not be winning with you on the team anytime soon..." he muttered, earning giggles from the others.

"Might as well pack your bags and move to Gryffindor!" Ron replied jokingly, patting the blond hair boy's back.

"_Never_." Draco gasped in mock horror.

A second round of laughter passed by the group of friends, and almost everyone seemed content.

Harold finished the last of his pie, forcing his mind to think about, once again, the missing member of the group. Did Neville hate Harold? Was he scared of him now? Would he not want to be friends anymore? The round boy's reaction to seeing only a fraction of what Harold really was was troubling. Harold discreetly looked around at his laughing friends, and wondered how they would react to the truth.

Suddenly, all at once, the reason why Harrison wanted them to pretend to be alive became all too clear.

Harold had, before Hogwarts, only Harrison and sometimes Avos to keep him company. Now, he had friends, real friends who didn't mind his slurred speech and love for digging in the dirt. But they didn't know the truth. Would they still be friends if they did?

Did Neville still want to be his friend?

Harold blinked and began to stand up, managing to get out of the bench without Harrison's help. Harrison, hearing his thoughts, simply nodded and let him have complete control. Everyone turned to look at him perplexedly.

"Going...to...visit...Neville..."

They gave him a nod of understanding before resuming conversation.

* * *

With his arm in a magical cast, Neville really had nothing better to do than to lay in his bed in the Hospital Wing thinking about his current situation. Madame Pomfrey bustled around the Wing, snatching potions and muttering spells under her breath. She was a little overbearing in the beginning, but once she realized that Neville was not the type to try to get out of her care early, she let him be. Which left him to ponder on things.

Things like Harold.

It wasn't the matter of who was Harold, that would never change, but what was Harold? The only thing Neville knew that was anything close to Harold was...Inferi. Was that what Harold was? An Inferus? Was Harold a monster? Was he only there to eat Neville and everyone else? Neville shivered at the thought as he once again remembered the unnatural angles of his limbs, the sharp, sharp teeth. Was Neville's first friend just a scheming, hungry Inferus?

No... Inferi were the mindless undead, only hungry for flesh and held no thoughts or feelings of their own. Harold had his own thoughts, he felt happiness and love and confusion. He liked to take care of plants with Neville and liked being in other people's company. In terms of his emotions, there was nothing below the surface, the kid had his heart painted across his head for all to see.

But... those eyes, those empty sockets, those Emerald embers. They were frightening. Those eyes could make a grizzled Auror soil themselves if faced with them in battle. Seeing them under Harold's bed and knowing that it wasn't a nightmare was horrifying. And yet, even those empty burning sockets held emotion, warmth. Even those flames held worry and care. Harold didn't even hesitate to fly up and save him from certain death, and even when they landed, all Harold cared about when he...snapped back together..was Neville's wellbeing.

"Very well Mr. Potter, you may visit Mr. Longbottom for until closing hours. But no more."

Madame Pomfrey's voice travelled to Neville's ears, and he instinctively tensed at the mention of the enigmatic boy.

"Privacy? Why would you want privacy, Mr. Potter?"

Neville's expression turned from fright to confusion. He heard Madame Pomfrey sigh.

"Very well, Mr. Potter, I shall set up some privacy wards. Don't misuse this trust."

"Thank...you..."

Harold's voice sounded...tired. And worried. Neville watched as the familiar boy shambled in, not really meeting his eyes. At this, Neville's mind started creating the worst scenarios possible. Did Harold want privacy so that he could eat him? Were these his last moments?

The privacy wards closed the two of them in like a curtain, and soon Madame Pomfrey left them alone. Harold shambled the the chair next to Neville's bed, and sat down slowly. His head was lowered, and his eyes darted from side to side. It was then that Neville realized that this was not Harold, but Harrison.

"I'm sure you have questions." was what the green eyed boy had started with, before falling silent.

Seconds passed, before Neville's curiosity overcame his fear.

"What...what are you?"

Harrison looked up at him, green eyes more serious and focused than Harold's could ever be. Involuntarily, a shiver ran down the round faced boy's spine.

"I am here to show you the whole truth, but Harold wants you to know...actually, nevermind, you will find out soon enough."

With that, Harrison began to stand up, determination shining in his eyes. A million questions started to run through Neville's head before the bed ridden Gryffindor witnessed something he didn't even think was possible. A silver image of Harrison (Harold?) was slowly coming apart from his body, tendrils of white magic flowing between them. For a brief moment the tendrils enveloped the child completely, before it died down to reveal the strangest sight Neville had ever seen.

There were now two Harry Potters standing next to his bed, but they looked far younger than the eleven year old he had seen just moments before. The two of them seemed to be about six years of age, and were wearing little black tuxedos with emerald green bow ties.

One was translucent, his green eyes startlingly glowing, and was very neat and tidy with his clothing, down to his high buttoned collar and rimless square glasses. Judging from the personalities of the two, Neville surmised that the translucent Harry was, in fact, Harrison. Which meant that Harold was...

Neville fought back a gasp. This was the exact image of the monster he saw under the bed. Empty black eye sockets holding only green embers in their core stared at Neville in a sorrowful manner. Sharp teeth sprouted from what was practically a skull, with only bits and pieces of flesh still clinging on for dear life. Unlike his ghostly counterpart, he was completely opaque, and most definitely not as neat. His tuxedo and bow tie was ripped and shredded in a few places, showing decomposing skin and white bone. Harold's right hand was all bone and the rest of his appendages, as well as his neck, did not fare much better. He was distinctly lacking a nose, and a part of Neville wondered how his thick framed oval glasses, which were cracked in a few places, stayed on his face.

"Here is the truth, Neville, Harry Potter died on December 4th, 1987. Harold and I are all that remains. I, Harrison, am the Spirit, and Harold is the animated Vessel."

At this Harold gave a little wave, which in his current form of a younger child came off as kind of cute, causing Neville to grin. Seeing his smile, Harold perked right up, as if a weight as big as the planet had been lifted off of his shoulders.

"Neville...still be...Harold's...friend?" Harold asked the bed ridden boy, worry clear in those emerald embers.

"Yeah, Harold, we're still friends." Neville replied to the zombie with a smile, before turning to Harrison with a serious expression, "What...what happened to you two?"

Harrison floated up to sit on the covers of the blanket, on the far end of the bed. Harold climbed the bed with a speed and flexibility that only the undead could possibly possess, sitting crosslegged next to Neville, who ruffled his already messy black hair. After the two were settled, Harrison flicked his left wrist and a bone white wand appeared in his hand.

"I suppose we should start at the beginning. As you know, our parents were killed the night Voldemort attacked our home. What you don't know is where Harry Potter was placed after the night of the attack. Dumbledore placed us with our Aunt and Uncle..."

* * *

Back at the Great Hall, the remaining group of friends watched Harold leave to check on Neville. As soon as the large doors closed again, Gregory leaned in, which caused the rest of the group to glance at him in confusion. Goyle turned to Draco.

"There's something I have to tell you...about something I noticed on the train." Vincent seemed to pick up on what his best friend was getting at.

"You mean the..." Vincent motioned to his collar area.

"Yeah..." Gregory replied seriously.

"What? What did you two see?" Draco asked his two 'minions' in confusion.

Gregory motioned for everyone to lean in close. Most raised an eyebrow in confusion. What could be so important? Gregory started to speak in a low voice, loud enough that the group could hear but soft enough that nobody else really could.

"Back on the Express, when we were changing into our uniforms... I happened to glance at Potter." Ron wore an expression of confusion.

"Did he have a weird scar or something on him?" Vincent frowned at Ron's question and answered.

"Yeah. A scar, okay more like a bruise, in the shape of a large handprint. It was around his neck." Hermione gasped.

"That's horrible! Who would do that to Harrison and Harold? Could they have had a fight?" At this, Gregory shook his head.

"This wasn't a fight, this was an attack. Potter was grabbed and choked, for a really long time." he started.

"And from the color of the print, they should be dead, or at least breathing wrong. But they're not. Harold and Harrison look and act as if they're in top health." Vincent finished.

"That's it!" Hermione exclaimed, as if she had finally solved a rather difficult puzzle, "That explains it!" she produced a frown, "But that's..._horrible_..." she whispered to herself.

"Uuuh Hermione? Mind clueing us in?" asked Ron with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione was about to retort, but saw the others looking at her expectantly and cleared her throat, flipping back to the beginning of her journal.

"I suppose none of you have ever heard of this, because it's a muggle mental disease, but I think Harrison and Harold are the product of something called Multiple Personality Disorder. The name gives a large clue to what it is, but let me explain further. Usually people with Multiple Personality Disorder get this problem because of severe mental trauma. I think Harold and Harrison are abused, which explains the hand print, and that's why there's two of them sharing one body, because their psyche split into two parts!"

At this point, Draco cleared his throat.

"While that's all well and good Granger, explain why they act as if they don't have any problems. You heard what Crabbe and Goyle said, those prints mean they should be _dead_."

A small silence spread throughout the group, before Blaise added his own two Knuts on the subject.

"...Didn't Madame Hooch say the same thing today during our flying lesson? That a fall from that height should have killed him?"

Silence reigned once more as each child tried to find the answer to a puzzle that was missing some crucial pieces.

* * *

"That's horrible!" Neville exclaimed, looking at the two undead boys with shock and understanding, "I can't believe your relatives would do that!"

"It doesn't matter to any of us now, we're dead. We can't really feel pain or fear death anymore, you see." Harrison stated as if he were talking about the weather.

"Broken...bones...don't hurt...anymore..." Harold added with a small smile.

"But...but...they tortured you! They cut you, carved nasty words and names on you! And then choked you to death! How are you guys so _calm_ about this?!" Neville's voice had lowered to just above a whisper, staring at Harold's skeletal hands, which were nested in his own.

They were completely devoid of any flesh, those hands, and the joints seemed to have traces of soil in them, as if Harold had been digging in the dirt without any gloves. Those hands had probably scratched the walls if his cupboard, begging to be let out, they probably shook violently as he was forced to cook for his relatives at such a tender age. Those same hands had no muscle or sinew and could still move, how was that possible? They were so...tiny. Neville's own hands made them look like a baby's. It only further drilled in the fact that Harry Potter had died so young.

"We were seven, Neville. That happened almost four years ago. Actually, our 'life' after death was much nicer. We have Avos, our familiars and our own quiet mausoleum. We get to talk to our parents and ancestors every Halloween, and the Mausoleum is a rather pretty place, you should visit us sometime there." Harrison explained with a shrug, a small smile on his face.

"Okay...I get that, but there's still something bothering me." Neville said, looking up at the precocious little ghost, "If you and Harold are the same person, why do you both act so differently?"

At this, Harrison's smile dropped into a grimace.

"Honestly? I don't know. The mystery between our split isn't something I've solved just yet. Especially since every time I think I've found the answer, another piece comes into view which destroys the current theory I have."

This time, both Harold and Neville looked at him curiously.

"What do you mean by that?" Neville asked.

"Well..." Harrison started with a sigh, "I researched differing personalities in the muggle world and came up with Multiple Personality Disorder, or MPD for short. At first, it fit our situation perfectly, with it being triggered by physical and mental trauma, but then the Sorting Hat decided to throw in something completely new."

"What did he say?" the bed ridden Gryffindor asked with a whisper, enraptured.

"He said that he sorted me before. In Slytherin." Harrison answered softly.

Neville looked to Harold for validation of this claim, and the small zombie nodded in affirmation.

"What, so you've been in Hogwarts before? Do you remember anything?"

Harrison's face was one of contemplation when he replied.

"Bits and pieces...but nothing entirely concrete. I remember a tall, bland building filled with children, I remember sitting on the Hogwarts Express alone..." Harrison takes out his bone white wand and examines it, "...And I remember this wand. This is my wand. It's always been my wand."

The Gryffindor boy stared at the wand in Harrison's transparent hands. It was a strange looking wand, and for some reason the sight of it made a chill run down his spine. He's seen Harold's wand before in plain sight, but Harrison seemed to hide his wand, as if he didn't want anyone to know that he had it.

The ghost himself was an enigma, now that Neville knew that Harrison was indeed foreign in some regard. But what exactly was he? Could Harrison have memories of a previous incarnation? No...his gut feeling told him it was something far more sinister than that. Whatever Harrison was originally may have mixed with Harry Potter's original personality to create the ghost in front of him, which would explain the physical and moral similarities as well as the obvious differences.

Speaking of which, while Harrison was lost in thought, Neville took the opportunity to compare the two undead boys. While on the surface they looked identical, if one peered closer they could see physical differences between them. Harrison had higher cheekbones than Harold did, giving the ghost a more aristocric air. Harold's face also seemed slightly rounder, though still heart shaped, than Harrison's was. The ghost also was a little taller than his corpse counterpart, which further proved the theory that Harrison was indeed not originally part of Harry Potter, but a foreign body mixed with Harry Potter's identity.

The question was, who was Harrison originally? And was this phenomenon possible?

Harrison tucked his wand away, and Neville absentmindedly noted that Harrison was left handed by the way he used his left sleeve to holster his wand.

"Well enough about us, we came to check on you Neville." the ghost said with a grim grin, "Are you alright? That fall must have hurt quite a bit." Harold's green ember eyes seemed to silently convey the same sentiment.

Neville motioned to his arm, already fixed due to Madame Pomfrey's expertise.

"Yeah, it hurt to fall like that, but I'm pretty sure you guys saved me from most of the damage by being my cushion. Madame Pomfrey healed me really well though, I just need to rest a little longer. I should be out by tomorrow morning." he explained.

Harold patted Neville's hands in understanding, a crooked smile on his boney face.

"That's...good...to hear..." he mumbled out, laying his head on his first friend's lap.

The bed ridden boy patted the little zombie on the head, smiling at Harold's caring nature. Yeah, definitely not a mindless Inferi. Not going to turn him into Neville-Mince and eat him for supper anytime soon. Though Harold's sharp teeth still made Neville wonder what his diet consisted of, since the razor-like incisors didn't look like they were there for tough cabbage.

"So..." Neville started slowly, "What do you guys eat? I'm pretty sure being dead changed your stomachs a bit."

Harrison absentmindedly floated in the air and sat cross-legged at about five feet above the ground, humming a little before he answered.

"As a ghost, I don't really need to eat. Though I do appreciate the odd offering, as food is simply a nice treat once in a while. Unfortunately, Harold's diet is a little...different. As a deceased corpse his digestive system, whatever kind of magic it runs by, seems to run solely on meat, preferably that of a human. I usually have to feed him around three times a year, as he also gets at least some nourishment from the other foodstuffs he consumes."

This made Neville blanch.

"Y-you mean he a-actually eats _people?!_" he sputtered out.

"Yes, but don't worry, I fed him before we left for Hogwarts, he shouldn't be due until Christmas. Even so, I'm sure I'll find someone I can feed to him, who knows what sort of creatures in the Forbidden Forest might be able to sustain him?" Harrison said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

Neville was about to challenge the spirit's statement before the sound of the privacy wards being taken down reached his ears. Harrison floated back down so that he was once more standing on the floor, before turning to the two boys sitting (or laying, in Neville's case) on the bed.

"Looks like visiting hours are over. Time to go, Harold."

Harold simply nodded in understanding, patted Neville's hand one last time, and leapt off the bed with a stumbling grace. The two undead boys seemed to run into each other before the place was engulfed in a flash of light. Just as the last had disappeared, Madame Pomfrey pulled back the curtains. What she saw was a healthy looking eleven year old Harry Potter standing by the side of the cot. It was definitely Harrison who controlled the body, striding towards her and bowing to the matron. He said his goodbyes to Neville before swiftly walking out of the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey turned to her charge, who was still lying in his cot with a look of deep contemplation on his face.

He may have had most of his questions answered by the two undead boys, but new questions that not even the source knew now whizzed around in his mind. Not thinking of anything he could solve in his current predicament, Neville decided that sleep was what he desperately needed at that moment in time.

* * *

Ronald Weasley wasn't very bright in academic standards, nor was he sharp in a political sense. His father worked in the Department of Muggle Artifact Misuse at the Ministry of Magic, his mother was a housewife, and he had five older brothers that had been far more talented in that respect. But something Ron was talented in was planning and scheming, only showing his genius during games of chess. So he decided on his way from supper that he was going to investigate the mystery of Harry Potter that night. When he got to his dorm, he saw that two people were missing, Neville (which was a given, since he was in the Hospital Wing) and the the individual that was Harrison and Harold.

He washed up for bed and bid his dormmates goodnight, patting Scabbers on the head before getting into bed. However, unlike his usual routine, he left the curtains of his bunk cracked open, just enough for him to see out of without causing suspicion. Soon enough Harold (it had to be Harold, because Harrison walked quickly and straight-backed rather than the hunched shuffling that Harold was known for) trudged into the dorm, obviously tired, in his pajamas. Ron waited for the boy to get into bed, but that never happened. The green-eyed Gryffindor closed his curtains tight while still outside in the room, and Ron watched with wide eyes as Harold instead crawled into the space underneath the bed.

After waiting a few minutes and hearing no signs of snoring or even breathing coming from underneath the bed, Ron decided to investigate further. As stealthily as he could, he crawled out of bed and lowered himself onto the floor. Harold was lying there, under the bed, with his arms crossed over his chest. In the darkness, it almost looked as if he was shorter than before, and there was no telltale sign that he was breathing. Ron tried to creep a little closer but Harold decided at that moment to twitch in his sleep, as if he were stirring, telling the red headed boy that that was enough investigating for the night. He scrambled into his bed and shut the curtains tight. He had already found out something interesting, and his mind went back to what Neville had said about the monster under the bed.

It was obvious that Harold had some weird sleeping habits, but something told Ron this was a little more complicated. There was something off about Harrison and Harold, but he didn't have anything conclusive as of what exactly all the evidence he had pointed to. The bruise on their neck, the dual personalities, the strange sleeping habits, the way he really should be dead...

Should be dead...

The pawn was in place to check the king, he felt so close to the answer. Ron tossed around in his sheets a little, trying to think of why that thought had caught his attention. Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived, he had survived the Killing Curse, which no one else had survived.

But what affects could that have?

Ron's mind drew a blank, and decided to investigate more in the morning. He dreamed of a small space that was completely dark, like a stone coffin.

* * *

Harrison decided to explore some new areas, stopping at the Charms corridor on the third floor. His curiosity got the better of him and he floated through the locked door to the forbidden area. There stood the door every student was not allowed to enter, locked shut. The ghost inspected the lock. It appeared to be weak enough for an Alohomora to unlock it, which made him question the security measures on the door. Harrison simply shrugged floated through the large door.

Only to come face to face with a giant three headed dog.

It was snarling at him, knowing that a spirit was there but not being able to harm him. Harrison watched it curiously for a moment, before reaching to pat its center head. The dog (A Cerebrus, his memory told him) seemed to calm down slightly, enough for the ghost to notice the trap door below its feet. Harrison patted the other two heads before floating down the trap door.

The next room was completely dark, but he could see the tendrils of some sort of semi-sentient vinelike plants. Oh, Harold would know what they were, he would ask the corpse in the morning. He felt the back of his mind tap at his memory. Devil's Snare... He honestly didn't know how he knew all this. He continued.

Flying Keys with wings fluttered around the room. Not seeing any point in completing the puzzle himself, Harrison rolled his eyes at the sight, noting the broomsticks in the corner of the room, and floated through the next large door.

A giant chess set. As he was a ghost, none of the pieces paid him any heed. Though it was rather impressive, with the white pieces in front and the black pieces as the opposition. He wondered if he should try this particular puzzle, before deciding against it as it might alert someone that he was there. He phased through the door on the other side.

Ew. Disgusting. What _was_ this creature?! It was enormous, with greenish grey skin and beady black eyes. A pot belly hung out of trousers covered in grime, a giant club in the creature's meaty hands. And the _stench_...the foul stench... Harrison doubted ghosts could vomit but at that moment he was incredibly sure he was about to. He practically raced out of the room containing the creature (A Troll, his hazy memory offered him).

There was not much in this room, only a table with a few vials and a scrap of parchment. Harrison wondered if the room held an actual purpose, before Seeing nothing else, Harrison passed on through.

The last room (it had no other door) was empty sans a large chest in the center. It looked as if it were newly placed and the contents inside would be moved shortly. Harrison tilted his head in curiosity. What could they possibly be hiding in here? The small ghost opened the locks of the chest and opened the lid, raising his eyebrow as no alarm sounded. Inside the chest was a single blood red stone. This time, his mind did not supply him with any information. He called his wand out and levitated it up and out of the chest (this, surprisingly, was not his mind supplying him with information, he had practiced the spell beforehand in the Mausoleum). With a quick flick of his wrist and a muttered incantation under his (nonexistent) breath, a replica of the strange stone appeared next to the original. Harrison levitated the replica into the chest, locking it again. He turned his attention on the original stone, wondering what to do with it.

Obviously it was being hidden here, but the defenses were so weak he wondered if it was more of a challenge to the students than an actual warning. The stone was probably a mundane prize to the brave soul to actual complete all the challenges, so Harrison had no qualms levitating the stone into the sack he was given by Avos three years prior and floating out of the room. He had no idea what it was, but it looked interesting enough. Perhaps he should find an abandoned classroom to take a look at this thing...

After heading out of the forbidden corridor and down a few halls, Harrison found a relatively cleaner abandoned classroom (that still desperately needed work, but at least he could enter it without having a ghostly aneurism) which only held a couple of desks and upturned chairs and a rather large mirror with a strange inscription on the top.

"_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_..." Harrsion mumbled to himself, reading the inscription, "...I don't think I know this language, or is it a language at all?"

He decided not to pay much attention to it for now, focusing more on cleaning the classroom than anything else. After a couple hours the place actually looked decent, even if it was still in disarray. Harrsion felt slightly drained, he had used most of his energy banishing the dust to whatever hell they came from. Tired for the first time in a while, he turned around and floated back to the dorm room, too tired to notice the reflection in the mirror.

With his sack safely hidden in his trunk (locked and charmed with quite a few strange spells and hexes that he didn't even know he knew before...he should really look into that head of his), Harrison tiredly floated behind the curtains of his bunk and down into Harold, creating a complete looking Harry Potter once more just as the sun's rays were beginning to seep into the room.

* * *

**AN:**

**Lucas: Looks like this is all she wrote for this chapter.**

**Harrison: Well, at least it's a decent length...**

**Harold: Didn't...cut...corners...**

**Harrison: Yes, and that's always a good thing. **

**Isaac: As forewarned, a bit of shameless promotion. One is writing an original story on Wattpad dot com called "The Adventures of Brave Heroics". It has cliche hero quest storylines with a twist, memes, puns and references. It's parody and satire in a relatively readable story. Also, that's where Lucas and I come from!**

**Lucas: Unfortunately.**

**Isaac: So it would be REAAAAAALLY cool if you could check our story out. That's all from my end!**

**Harrison: And see shall see you next time, my dears!**

**Harold: Goodbye...until...next...time...**


	11. Nimbus 2000 and Redheads Solve Most Ever

**_Grim Grinning Ghosts Chapter 10 - Nimbus 2000 and Redheads Solve Most Everything_**

**AN:**

**Oni: Holy Smokes its almost been a year since this has updated!**

**Harrison: University has sapped you of both motivation and time? **

**Oni: Yup, but since its almost Halloween, I've gathered my motivation and got it work! So here's the new chapter! I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Harold: You...forgot...something...**

**Oni: Oh right!**

**"**Normal**"**

**"Mindspace"**

**Oni: And Ron shall do the disclaimer!**

**Ron: I feel imporatant! Oni does not own Harry Potter nor its characters not the plot bunny. The interesting premises are, however. **

**Oni: Annnnd ONWARDS!**

* * *

The next morning had Harrison scowling with great annoyance at a package that had just been delivered to him by no less than six large screech owls, causing most of the dwellers of the Gryffindor table to turn their heads to stare at it. It was rather large, and suspiciously broomstick-shaped. A note had fluttered right on top of it, and Harrison had already read it, rolling his eyes as he did.

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor McGonagall

Harrison internally snorted. Honestly, what else could the package be, but a broom? Sometimes he wondered how the Wizarding World managed to hid themselves from everyone else if their level of subtlety was this bad. A glance to his side told him that Ron was looking curiously at the note in his hands, so he passed the piece of parchment to him whilst still muttering about their common sense.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously, "I've never even touched one."

Hermione, who had managed to grab the note during Ron's whine, raised a single eyebrow at the package.

"It's not that..." she began, but was interrupted by Neville leaning over on the other side of the table.

"Hey, who gave you the broom?" the round faced Gryffindor asked curiously.

Hermione simply made a noise of derision before handing over the note. Harrison watched as Neville's eyes scanned the elegant writing, before once again returning to the obvious broomstick package.

"It's for getting on the team, if you're curious as of why. McGonagall's got us as the new Seeker after she heard of how we...saved you." Harrison explained softly.

Neville simply nodded in understanding before handing the note back and returning to breakfast. The group of Griffs decided to focus on eating the rest of their meal and pretended for the moment that the broomstick package did not exist. Well, except for Ron, who was stuffing his face with bacon while somehow simultaneously drooling over the unopened Nimbus.

When breakfast was over, it was Harold that took the brown package with his normal labored, slow movements. The smile that threatened to split his face apart was the opposite of Harrison's internal worrying, but the zombie had been around the ghost long enough to know this wasn't the important kind of worrying that he should be concerned about. So ignoring Harrison's internal soliloquy of why flying a broom was still a bad idea, Harold, along with Ron and Neville, promised Hermione they would meet her at their first class before making their way out of the Great Hall.

Or, at least, they were going to leave before Draco and company decided to bar their way out in a mock haughty fashion. Malloy himself was standing in a rather silly pose, with his arms stretched to the sides and his nose in the air. Harrison, seeing his friend in such an amusing stance, took over the body for a moment and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Draco? How may I help you?" he asked with a small smirk.

As if on a hinge, an arm swung to the front, stopping so that the hand was pointing at the package. This caused the Slytherins behind him to stifle their laughter, while Neville and Ron didn't even try to hide their chortles as they watched the white haired Slytherin's funny behavior.

"What..." Draco drawled in an almost perfect mimicry of Professor Snape, "is that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Harrison mockingly drawled back, holding out the package.

It was at this point that Draco broke character in his little charade and, like Ron, pounced on the parcel, feeling it's shape.

"It's a broomstick." the Slytherin replied, confusion written on his face, "I thought first years weren't allowed to have them."

Ron, ever the broomstick (or just Quidditch in general) fanatic, immediately jumped on topic for the one other person who was nuts for brooms.

"It's not any old broomstick," he sighed, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Draco, a Comet Two Sixty?"

"Yeah." the Malfoy scion answered in a far off voice, looking at the wrapped broom in awe.

Ron grinned at him in reply.

"Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"True, true, I've heard the Nimbus Two Thousand can make faster turns, though since it's so new they haven't recorded its fastest speed yet." Draco chatted animatedly.

"I hear it's the fastest broom yet! Wonder what would happen if you did a Wronski Feint with it..."

"Right!" Harrison interrupted with wide eyes before the two of them could go on a broomstick discussion, he voice a little high, "I'm taking this to my dorms now, but I shall open it after dinner if it makes you feel better."

With that, he ran off towards the Gryffindor Tower, leaving everyone but Neville, who knew Harrison's fear of anything dangerous (e.g., Quidditch, Broomsticks, etc), a little confused at his behavior.

* * *

Harold could not pay attention in any of his lessons. Every time he tried to concentrate, his mind wandered to the Nimbus 2000 sitting on the bed he never used, unopened. His own broom, they actually gave him his own broom. If it wasn't the broom, then it was the Quidditch pitch where he would be learning how to play the fascinating sport. The walking corpse felt like he would burst from excitement and happiness. Thankfully, most of the lessons were not the hands on ones that required Harold's attention, so the zombie happily let his ghost counterpart take over while he thought about broomsticks and his new Seeker position.

Harrison, on the other hand, was doing his best _not_ to think about the looming Quidditch lesson, and the broom that could very well lead them to another Neville incident. Therefore it was of no surprise that he instead concentrated intensely on the lessons, earned House points without noticing as he vehemently tried to focus his mind on other things.

With his mind so one tracked, Harrison didn't even notice his friends studying him as he worked, trying to figure out who and what he was and how he ticked. Sometimes they would see a flash of the ever present bruise on his neck when his collar shifted, and the way that he sometimes forced his chest to rise and fall after it stayed still for minutes on end as if he had to remember to breathe. Hermione was taking both notes on the lesson while simultaneously writing in her little black journal on everything she found off about her green eyed dual conscious friend.

And while she never thought about it before, when she went through her notes afterwards, she realized that there was quite a bit off about Harry Potter. According to his dorm mates, he slept under the bed. He had a bruise in shape of a large handprint around his neck that still has not gone away, still as fresh looking as it appeared on Express (according to Greg and Vincent). There was the dual personality of Harrison and Harold, who were almost complete opposites of each and yet still held the same core beliefs. It was easier to see them as brothers than as fragments of a whole.

But that made no sense, as that would imply one of the two did not belong inside the body, which sounded rather silly. Then again, a year ago she didn't believe that magic existed. Even though none of the books she read explained such a phenomenon didn't mean it wasn't possible. It was just a matter of how. Unfortunately, that also posed a matter of who and what Harry Potter actually was, because most of the feats he pulled and the traits he had pointed to the fact that her odd friend(s) wasn't exactly...human. More research had to be done, it seems.

The last class finished, and the bushy haired girl watched closely as Harrison packed away his things, before his expression and posture immediately...changed. No longer was she seeing Harrison the quick speaking intellectual, but instead she was now watching Harold the kind, slow speaking counterpart. His movements were far less graceful than Harrison's but fast as he excitedly talked to Ron and Neville about opening the broom package after dinner. She followed them, eventually catching up with them and striking up a conversation with Neville, otherwise known as her next interviewee. Ever since Harold caught Neville from falling of his broom that first flying lesson the round faced Gryffindor had acted differently around his apparent savior.

Almost as if he knew more about him than everyone else.

And thus, none of the boys realized that one of them was being led off for questioning by a very curious Hermione Granger. By the time Neville realized that he had been dragged unwittingly to an abandoned classroom instead of following Ron and Harold to dinner, Hermione had already locked the door. He turned around to face Hermione, who had a strange glint in her eye as if she was looking at a particularly interesting book.

Neville, understanding slowly dawning on him, backed slowly to the dusty wall. A nervous smile crept to his face.

"Uh, so, Hermione..." he stammered out, flattening himself against the wall as the bushy haired brunette slowly prowled forward.

"Talk." she intoned lowly, trying to imitate all the cop movies she saw with her parents.

"I don't know what you're asking Hermione..." Neville squeaked out, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Harold and Harrison. You _know_ something about them, don't you? Tell me what you know!"

At this, Neville seemed to sag in relief.

"Oh thank goodness, with the way you were acting I thought I had forgotten a homework assignment..."

At this, Hermione facepalmed.

"That doesn't answer the question, Neville! I've been tracking their movement and nothing seems to make any sense! None of my books are giving me any answers to how anybody can survive a fall of that height, nor an explanation for any of his strange mannerisms!" she ranted, her speech speeding up as she got more riled up.

Neville waved his arms in a calming motion, his courage beginning to build.

"That's not up for me to tell. If you want answers, you might as well ask them yourself. Yes, I know they're secretive about what's the matter with them, but I can say that it's for good reason! You have to give them a reason to trust you with that kind of information, Hermione." he told her seriously, making his way toward the door.

Hermione, confused at his behavior, simply opened and closed her mouth in a manner befitting a goldfish. The round faced boy sighed, attempting to unlock the door and failing.

"You know, the best way of understanding them is to look outside the box a little."

The bushy brunette sighed. He was right. When she looked up to tell him so, Hermione realized he was looking at her with a sheepish expression.

"I...can't unlock the door. Help?"

Well, at least she knew where to start now.

* * *

Harold didn't think he ever wolfed down his food so fast in his life, or his unlife. He didn't even know what he was eating for most of it, all he knew was Ron was doing the same thing as he was. Most of the Gryffindors watching had gawked as the amiable half of Harry Potter was usually slow moving, but Harold's mind was only focused on the Quidditch training that evening and the broom sitting on his bed. After devouring the last morsel of his meal, the zombie half had leapt out of his seat at the Gryffindor table, closely pursued by Ron, eager to open his package. When they got to their dorm, Harold finally torn open the parchment covering with satisfaction.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harold's bedspread.

Even Harold, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top. He had only ever seen the dusty cleaning brooms that he had to use during his stay at Privet Drive, or even the twiggy ones that Filch seemed so fond of. Nothing like this. He was going to be using this for Quidditch? Excitement built up inside his core while worry grew in Harrison's.

"**You are sure about** **this?**" the ghost asked within their mind.

Harold nodded vigorously, a wide smile on his face, causing Ron to look at him confusedly. The redhead said nothing about it, however.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, the two of them left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. Harold had never been inside the stadium before, though Harrison had already explored it a week ago. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end, fifty feet tall.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harold mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground, paying no attention to the panicked shriek that emanated from Harrison inside their mind. What a feeling! He swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch. Was this how Harrison felt flying around? Harold's grin grew wider the faster he went, pulling stunts no living person would dare to try, loving the feeling of the wind and the freedom.

"Hey, Potter, come down!"

Oliver Wood had arrived and was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harold expertly landed next to him.

"Very nice," commented Wood, his eyes glinting, "I see what McGonagall meant... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different sized balls.

"Right," started Wood, "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

"Three...Chasers..." Harold repeated as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," the older Gryffindor explained, "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

Harold slowly nodded with furrowed brow.

"Fantastic! "Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper. I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

The zombie tried to sort it all in his mind, and nodded again when he got it all together. Curious, he turned to the box of gear again and mutely pointed. Oliver Wood got what he was conveying and handed Harold a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat. After seeing his confused look, Wood decided to elaborate.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do."

He showed Harold two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harrison noticed nervously that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"These two are the Bludgers," Wood stated, "Stand back."

He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers. At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harold's face. Harrison, his survival instincts kicking in, swung at it with the bat and tried not to scream. With a stricken face he sent it zigzagging away into the air. It zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely, "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team, the Weasley twins are ours, it's their job to protect their

side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So... think you've got all that?"

Wood looked at him expectantly, and Harold thought it over for a few seconds before nodding again. Harrison, however, was not done.

"Have... have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" the ghost counterpart asked, hoping he sounded offhanded.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers unless they crack my head open." Wood began, but seeing Harrison's look of fear, he placated the child, "Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers... I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves." he finished with a laugh.

At last, Oliver Wood brought out the one ball Harrison was familiar with, to silver wings fluttering like a hummingbird.

"This is what I tested you on before. This," explained Wood reverently, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and

difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages. I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. Well, that's it... any questions?"

Harold shook his head slowly. He understood what he had to do all right, and he was excited. His eyes following the fluttering wings, his hands itching to catch it.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it."

"Nooooo..." Harold moaned quietly, earning a snort from Wood.

"What, you think you could do it?" the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain asked rhetorically, only to frown when Harold instead nodded vigorously.

Closing his eyes and scratching his chin in consideration, Oliver Wood weighed his options. He had already seen that this kid had lighting-fast moves, but was nervous on what would happen if Potter didn't catch the Snitch. At this hour, if he lost the bloody golden ball, McGonagall would have his head. After mulling it over, he drew a deep breath.

"Alright, I'll get it out again, but you _have_ to catch it." Wood emphasized, taking the fluttering golden Snitch back out of the crate and holding it up.

Taking the vigorous nodding as affirmation, Wood released the tiny thing, wincing as it immediately disappeared from sight. Sighing, he was about to turn to tell Potter to mount his broom when he heard the telltale sound of someone taking off into the sky. The older teen's eyes could barely follow the first year as the boy zipped through the sky, coming back down within seconds holding the frantically fluttering ball between his fingers. The tiny green eyed child eagerly handed the Snitch back to Wood, like a puppy handing back a ball after it's fetched it.

Visibly impressed, Oliver Wood opened his hand once more and let it Snitch zoom off into the dim, with Potter flying to catch it. Again, Potter returned within seconds with it in hand, grinning widely like a child who had been given a basket of candy. The gears in Woods head began to spin as he formulated a plan. Surely, if the boy was this good, then McGonagall wouldn't mind if he also used their back up Snitches...

Making up his mind, the Quidditch Captain opened a hidden panel in the crate, where they kept the other Snitches, and released them along with the original Snitch. It took a little longer, but within a span of ten minutes Potter managed to catch and return all seven back up Snitches, along with the original. A mad grin spread across Wood's face.

The next hour saw Oliver Wood vibrating in joy as even in the dim light Potter had still managed to catch every single Snitch. He didn't even seem to be breaking a sweat, nor was he red in the face, nor breathing heavily...

In fact, that seemed rather peculiar. Potter was not only not sweating, but his face was still the same pale complexion. Stranger still, his breathing wasn't labored. As he packed up the Snitches back into their proper places in the crate, he realized something much eerier.

Through the darkness of nightfall, Wood noticed that Potter wasn't breathing at all.

But that couldn't be right. Potter seemed more energetic than ever, his movements quick and lively. Perhaps it was simply the trick of the darkness and fatigue. Shaking his head to clear the strange thoughts from his mind, Wood became determined to simply focus on the player that should get Gryffindor the Cup for the year.

"That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," he told the grinning first year as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons. With skill like that, we should be undefeated."

Harold beamed at the praise, and waved the Quidditch Captain goodbye when it was finally time to part ways. When they were finally alone and making their way towards their dorm, Harrison made himself known.

"**That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, minus the first take-off, Harold you really** **do have an incredible talent on the** **broom.**" were the first words that echoed through their shared mindspace.

The zombie, still in control of the body, grinned wider than before.

"**Thanks**..." he thought to his counterpart, trudging his way up the staircase to the Gryffindor Tower.

"**Perhaps it would be best, however, if I buried myself deeper into the mindspace when you start the actual games as I don't want to distract you with me worrying while you** **play**." Harrison continued after a few seconds of silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harold wanted to placate his counterpart, but Harrison was right. The ghost had a tendency to worry himself into a panic, and in a game of Quidditch (which was already hazardous on its own) it could hinder him on the field.

Without a word Harrison took control of the body while Harold was thinking, letting the zombie rest after such a strenuous day. Absentmindedly he muttered the password to the Common Room, the Fat Lady's portrait swinging open with a yawn. When they trudged into their dorm room, they found everyone to be asleep. As quietly as possible Harrison placed the Nimbus Two Thousand into their trunk and cast a weary look at his dorm mates.

"**Everyone seems to be asleep. Should we risk it?**" he asked inside the mind, only getting a silent shrug in reply.

Feeling a little adventurous, Harrison unattached himself from Harold's body, his translucent form floating cross legged above the now seven year old looking corpse. Harold's ember-like green eyes glowed in the darkness of the dorm, blinking sleepily.

"Get some sleep, you've had a long day." the ghost whispered out, already floating up toward the ceiling, "As usual, I'll be back in the morning. Goodnight, Harold."

"Night...Harrison..." the zombie mumbled sleepily, getting on his knees and crawling under the bed.

Crossing his arms in typical graveyard fashion, Harold closed his eyes, happy with the ending of the day.

For some people, however, the day was not yet finished.

* * *

Ronald Weasley had been intercepted by Hermione Granger after Harold had left for Quidditch practice with Oliver Wood. The redhead had been in the Common Room, playing a game of chess with Percy (who had some free time before his rounds started) when she had asked him for a favor.

"I can't do anything tonight, Hermione, Scabbers has gone missing again!" Ron had whined, only to be interrupted by Percy.

"Scabbers disappeared all the time when I had him. He'll be back, he's a smart rat." the prefect told his younger brother, his eyebrow raising curiously at the muggleborn girl, "Does this have to do with Potter's strange behavior? I've seen you stalking him and writing in that book of yours." he told her flatly, pointing to her black notebook.

Hermione had squeaked, and held her notebook close to her chest.

"I-I'm not stalking him! I'm studying him!" she had stuttered out defensively.

Percy simply shook his head.

"Don't worry, I've noticed his oddities as well. Sometimes I swear I saw him wandering the corridors at night, but it's always around the times Ron told me he was sleeping under his bed." the fifth year prefect placated.

"Yes, well, that's the thing," Hermione explained, "Harold and Harrison don't make any sense!" she handed her notebook over to the older redhead to read, "Not the bruise on their neck, not the duel personalities, not the way he should be-"

"Dead." Percy interrupted lowly, flipping through the notebook, "so you have written many time in here I see."

Ron took this opportunity checkmate his brother, as the game was nearly over anyway, watching his brother's king throw down his crown, signaling that he had won. For a few brief moments no one spoke, par the complaints from Percy's chess pieces as they were packed away. Then Percy stood up from his seat.

"Well, I have a theory, but you're not going to like it." he told the two first years, who looked at him expectantly, "It doesn't make any sense, but it's the only explanation that fits."

"What is it?" Ron asked, readying himself for the usual boring explanation that came from his third eldest brother.

"Potter really _is_ dead, and somehow still walks among the living as some sort of Inferi." Percy said simply, much to Ron's surprise.

"Yes, but they don't _look_ like a corpse!" Hermione argued.

"No, but he does trudge like one. The slower personality, Harold was it? He has nearly every trait of an advanced Inferi. The Defense Professor last year was obsessed with them, and he had managed to make one from his own mother's corpse before perishing under it. The Inferi itself didn't last very long, as it still had the personality of the mother and had set herself on fire. Needless to say our class had been given a default pass after that." Percy retaliated.

"Oh, so that's what happened to him. Fred and George said it was because he had found the meaning of life and therefore transcended to a higher plain of existence." Ron interrupted, causing Percy to stare at him incredulously.

"Honestly Ron, why do you believe some of the crazy things the twins say?" he asked exasperatedly.

"Well, the real explanation wasn't much easier to believe..." Ron answered defensively, "Anyways I'm a bit out of the loop here. What's an Inferi?"

Percy was about to answer, but Hermione beat him to it.

"An Inferus, or Inferi for plural, is a reanimated corpse raised usually by a Dark Wizard. They're very dangerous creatures that have a taste for human flesh, and have no sense of right and wrong. They can only be destroyed by fire. Advanced ones are said to be able to speak and think for themselves, though both their speech and their thoughts are significantly slower, their words sometimes coming out slurred. Inferi also have a distinct way of moving, usually trudging everywhere unless provoked or if they sense fresh meat when starving, to which then they move five times faster than that of a normal human being."

"So...like Harold." Ron said slowly.

At this, Percy motioned to his brother.

"My point exactly." he said haughtily.

"But then explain Harrison! Or the fact that they don't look like a corpse!" Hermione retorted.

"I don't know what to tell you about the other one, but you can't deny the fact that Potter does possess traits of an advanced Inferi. Perhaps start there, and we can crack this mystery." Percy answered before handing Hermione's notebook back to her, "Now, I believe it's time for me to make my rounds, and time for you two to get some sleep. Goodnight Ron, Granger."

With that, the fifth year prefect walked out of the Common Room. When the portrait door clicked shut, Hermione grabbed Ron's arm.

"I need you to watch him tonight, see if you can see anything strange about him when he gets under the bed to sleep. Lack of breathing signs, anything. Just tell me in the morning, alright?" she whispered to him urgently.

"And what do I get out of this?" Ron asked in a Draco-esque manner.

"Other than satisfaction? I will help you write your Transfiguration essay, which I noticed hasn't been started even though it's due tomorrow." the bushy haired girl replied with a smirk, causing Ron to pale.

"Touché... alright I'll do it."

Which is why he laid in his bed, pretending to be asleep and waiting for Harold and Harrison to get back from Quidditch practice. When the door finally opened, he forced his breathing to be deep and slow. This was it, is all he had to do was look for strange behavior...

He cracked his eyes open slightly, noticed that it was Harrison controlling the body by his paranoid behavior, green eyes passing around each of the dorm mates. Ron forced his breath not to hitch when it passed to him, and it seemed to have worked. When Harrison turned away to pack up the broom, the red head chanced to open his eyes a little wider to get a better look. Sure enough, Hermione was right. There was no telltale rise and fall of the chest that meant he was breathing, even though he should be doing so heavily after Quidditch practice.

Then it happened.

A white mist seemed to rise from the body, taking shape above the raven haired first year. After a few seconds the definitive shape of a person could be seen floating five feet in the air. The translucent figure looked like a younger version of the Boy Who Lived, while the body that was left...

It took Ron all he had not to scream. There, standing in the place of the healthy eleven year old, was a corpse standing up. It was shorter than before, depicting the body of a child four years younger. Ember green eyes flashed in the dark, the skull they glowed from still had bits of flesh stuck on it. Both beings were wearing a small muggle tuxedo with green bow ties, but the corpse's suit was torn and shredded in places while the floating...ghost...still had it in pristine condition.

"Get some sleep, you've had a long day." he heard the ghost whisper as it floated upwards, "As usual, I'll be back in the morning. Goodnight, Harold."

The corpse, now identified as Harold, bit back a yawn. _Well_, Ron thought to himself, _Percy_ _was_ _right_ _with_ _Harold_ _being_ _the_ _advanced_ _Inferus_. Which meant that the ghost being floating out must be Harrison. As if to prove Ron's theory right, Harold spoke.

"Night...Harrison..." he mumbled before crawling under the bed.

When it was evident that neither of them had noticed him, Ron opened his eyes completely. He waited for the shuffling beneath the bed to stop before getting up out of bed and looking under the bed where Harold was. The Inferus seemed to be asleep, his arms crossed across his chest, the green embers extinguished for the moment. Seeing his like this brought a chill down Ron's spine.

Yes, Harry Potter was both a ghost and a walking corpse, but the real question was how. Most importantly, why was the Boy Who Lived dead? Judging by the deaging that they underwent when the two split, they had to be younger when they died. But if a wizard had killed them, wouldn't it have been all over the Daily Prophet?

Questions whizzed through Ron's mind. He had to get this to Percy and Hermione-

A green glow emanated from below the bed again, and the red haired first year was now face to face with Harold the reanimated corpse. Blue eyes widened in fear and surprise. What was he going to do now?

"Please...don't...tell..." was the almost pitiful plea from Harold's mouth, green embers somehow conveying the likeness of puppy eyes, "I don't want...them to be...afraid..."

So that's why they kept it a secret. He wondered if Neville knew about this, or if that's the reason they were visiting the boy for so long in the hospital wing.

"I won't." Ron promised, hoping Hermione could forgive him for this.

Harold seemed to smile, sharp jagged teeth more prominent and yet still managed to look innocent and harmless.

"Thank you..." was all he said before the embers extinguished again.

Taking that as he cue to leave, Ron tiptoed back to his bed. It wasn't until an hour later when he finally fell asleep, his dreams once again showing him a cold winter morning filling snow, screaming, blood and pain.

* * *

**AN:**

**Oni: And that's all for now! **

**Harrison: Don't forget to Follow, Favorite, and Review!**

**Harold: And check out...her other...works...**

**Oni: And I'll see you next time, my pretties!**


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